


we'll consecrate this messy love

by Cinaed



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Background Relationships, Complete, Ensemble Cast, Established Relationship, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oaths & Vows, Party, Season/Series 15 Spoilers, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-02-23 14:27:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13192011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinaed/pseuds/Cinaed
Summary: Grif spent the morning of his wedding dodging Sarge's assassination attempts. It didn't feel that much different than a regular day. He didn't catch on that Sarge was actively trying to murder him until Sarge broke down after one too many failures and shook his fists at the sky, shouting, "Where have I gone wrong? Is the universe itself conspiring against me to keep Grif alive? What cruel universe do we live in? Simmons is doomed. Doomed!"





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, I have fallen into RvB fandom headfirst, so I thought I'd introduce myself with Grimmons wedding shenanigans. I hope you all enjoy this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it! The chapters will be uploaded each Sunday. 
> 
> The title comes from "On My Way" by Passion Pit. 
> 
> The main focus of the fic is obviously Grif/Simmons, but there's also background Kimball/Grey and Sister...well, Sister hitting on a lot of people. 
> 
> Spoilers for the entirety of the show as of Season 15.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning of the wedding: Donut is the wedding planner from hell, Simmons proves a stickler for tradition, Sarge has an assassination attempt or two up his sleeve, and Grif may or may not be Runaway Bride-ing this shit.

Grif spent the morning of his wedding dodging Sarge's assassination attempts. It didn't feel that much different than a regular day. He didn't catch on that Sarge was actively trying to murder him until Sarge broke down after one too many failures and shook his fists at the sky, shouting, "Where have I gone wrong? Is the universe itself conspiring against me to keep Grif alive? What cruel universe do we live in? Simmons is doomed. Doomed!"

"How did you not know he was trying to kill you?" Simmons asked flatly. His expression was both baffled and resigned. Frankly, that was still a step up from his earlier pissy look. One would think a guy would be happy to see his future husband on the day of their wedding, but of course Simmons had whined about Grif breaking tradition by coming to hide in his room. "I thought you were just humoring him and pretending not to notice. Tucker told me Sarge put a _bomb_ in your pancakes!"

Grif shrugged. "I thought Donut was experimenting with flambé pancakes or something. You know, to celebrate."

"Flambé pancakes," Simmons echoed, and closed his eyes. He sighed deeply. Grif got the impression that he was resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"In my defense, Donut has gone all out for this wedding."

Apparently Donut was summoned by saying his name two times, because before Simmons could respond, Donut burst into the room and shrieked.

"Grif!" he said, sounding so agonized that Grif squinted, trying to see if Sarge had somehow shot Donut by mistake. Donut's face was full of reproachful horror. "How could you break such a wonderful tradition? The grooms aren’t supposed to see each other before the wedding!"

"Hey, how do you know that Simmons didn't invite me here?"

Both Simmons and Donut gave him a look.

Grif shrugged. "Okay, that's fair."

Donut thrust a large bag at Simmons. His mournful expression brightened. "At least I didn't use a clear garment bag, so _technically_ Grif hasn't seen you in your suit yet. What a close call! Here's the suit, ironed to perfection. And it'll fit you like a glove, of course."

"Of course," Simmons said without enthusiasm. His eyes held the same distant horror that Grif was pretty sure filled his own. Donut had insisted on taking everyone's measurements to make outfits for the entire wedding party. Grif was still a little surprised that the wedding had survived that terrible ordeal. Actually, he was more surprised that no one had murdered Donut. Especially the members of the Blue Team, who'd made it a super weird habit of killing each other.

Donut grabbed Grif's arm. "And you! Out this minute, mister."

Grif dug in his heels. "Only if you promise to sacrifice yourself when Sarge tries to murder me again." Visions of destroyed pancakes paraded through his mind. What a waste of food! A horrible thought struck him. "Have you checked that the wedding cake isn't booby-trapped?" He figured that it was probably safe, since Sarge wouldn't want to catch Simmons in the crossfire, but after all that wailing and rending of clothes and stuff, Grif had started to wonder if Sarge might think it would be more merciful to kill Simmons too.

Donut's grip tightened on Grif's arm, hard enough that he yelped. When Donut spoke, his tone was calm. Too calm, actually. It made Grif think about serial killers, who probably sounded nice and reasonable right up until the second before they murdered you. Grif tried to unobtrusively pull his arm away, to no avail.

"Grif. Nothing and no one is going to ruin your special day. Not after all my hard work." Some of the calm slipped from Donut's voice. "Do you _know_ how difficult it was to get orchid and plumeria blossoms at _this_ time of year? In _this_ quadrant?"

Grif didn't know which answer would save him from another of Donut's wedding rants, so he kept his mouth shut. Instead it was Simmons who took the bullet and said soothingly, "Extremely difficult, and Grif and I appreciate it very much."

Looking slightly less homicidal, Donut said, “Well, you’re welcome! Now let’s get Grif out of here so you can put on your suit!” He laughed. “Though of course I’ll be back later to give your look my own personal touch.”

“Great,” Simmons said hollowly. 

Before Grif could say anything, Donut dragged him towards the door. This time Grif let himself be pulled out into the hallway, though he made sure to use Donut as a shield in case Sarge attacked again. The door closed on the sight of Simmons looking a little misty-eyed as he smiled at the garment bag.

“Ugh, what a sap,” Grif muttered, and then tried to wipe the matching grin off his face. He should’ve known that Simmons’ stupid mushiness was contagious, like a yawn or an STD. “Does this mean I finally get to see my suit?”

Donut’s face lit up.  

 

* * *

 

Grif studied himself in the mirror, ignoring Donut’s calls for him to spin around and work it. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but Donut had done a great job. Somehow he had found a silk vest and tie that matched the color of his armor. Plus, the suit did fit perfectly. There was just one problem. The suit itself was white. No, just calling it white didn’t do it justice. The suit was the essence of white, so shiny that Grif’s eyes actually watered a little as he looked at his reflection. 

“Is Simmons wearing white too? Because I don’t care what he says, I wasn’t the virgin nerd in this relationship.”

Donut laughed. “It’s not about experience, silly! It’s about skin tones and complimentary colors! That bright white would wash him right out. Meanwhile, you’ll look fabulous.”

“Yeah, I’m going to take that as a no,” Grif said. He resigned himself to a shitload of bride and virgin jokes. It was a shame, really. He’d had a few good ones up his sleeve for Simmons in case Donut had decked _him_ out in white.

He started to fiddle with his tie and yelped when Donut slapped his hand.

“That tie is knotted perfectly,” Donut said, back to his too-calm tone. “The entire outfit is flawless. You aren't going to ruin this for me. So this is the plan: the wedding is in one hour. You are going to sit in your room, very still, until your sister comes.”  
  
“Uh…..” Grif had a fierce, internal battle over whether or not to tell Donut to rephase things, or to point out that technically it was his and Simmons' wedding day to ruin. His hand was still stinging from the slap, though, so he settled on just waiting Donut out. That sometimes worked.

“She’ll pick you up in forty minutes and walk you down the aisle.” Before Grif could say a word, Donut held up a finger. “Now, you are going to follow these rules, or you will regret the day that you and Simmons chose me as your wedding planner.” His smile was at odds with his deadly serious tone, which made things even more terrifying.

“Uh, we didn’t choose you. You volunteered and we didn’t say no,” Grif said, despite himself.

Thankfully Donut ignored him in favor of waving his finger in Grif’s face. “No food or drink. You’re simply going to sit here until Kaikaina comes. Understand?”

Grif nodded. When Donut kept staring, he said, “Okay, fine.” Donut’s expression didn’t change. Grif sat down and folded his arms against his chest. “Jesus, Donut, I solemnly swear that I will sit here until Kaikaina comes to get me, okay?”

“Great!” Donut chirped, apparently finally appeased. “Now I better check in on Wash and Carolina. They’re greeting the guests, you know.” 

“Yeah, whatever.” Then Donut’s words sunk in. “Wait, you have Wash and Carolina greeting everyone?” he asked, but Donut was already gone. “Well, that should go _great_.”

There was no one around to appreciate his sarcasm. It was just him and his reflection in the mirror. “You know I’m right,” he muttered at his reflection’s dubious look, and immediately wished he hadn’t. He’d made it a rule not to talk to himself after….

Well, let’s just say he wasn’t going to give his reflection the opportunity to talk back.

He looked down to avoid the mirror, and belatedly realized a few things. One, that someone had cleaned away all the empty food containers and dirty clothes that usually carpeted the floor. Two, that he didn’t actually own a full-length mirror.

Grif knew that everything could be explained by Donut being Donut. He’d probably snuck in and cleaned while Grif was dodging assassination attempts. It had been Donut making sure that Grif’s suit would stay stainless until the wedding. This room was real. Donut and Simmons were real. Sarge’s lame assassination attempts were real. Grif wasn’t still on the retirement moon, talking to a bunch of painted volleyballs.

Still the sudden disorientation caught him by the throat and squeezed. He swallowed against the bitter metallic taste in his mouth and lurched to his feet, fighting against the feeling that his previously comfortable suit was now several sizes too small. He yanked at his tie until it unraveled between his shaking fingers.

He stared at the orange tie clenched in his fist and breathed hard until the panicky feeling eased. He didn’t have these moments too often, but they were obnoxious as hell every time. You live alone for a few weeks and somehow end up even more neurotic than Simmons, he guessed.  The thought of Simmons steadied him for a second before he remembered that he couldn’t go back to Simmons’ room to reassure himself that he wasn’t hallucinating. If he showed up in his suit and completely broke wedding tradition, Simmons would go from pissy to furious. Could you annul the wedding before it even started?

Still, Grif wasn’t sticking around his room to let his brain mess with him. He just had to figure out a place to hide out until Kai came to get him, somewhere Donut and Sarge wouldn’t think to look.   

 

* * *

 

“Grif, what the fuck are you doing?”

Grif looked up from where he was bent awkwardly over a trash can in the Blue kitchen. He started to answer, but the last cookie had stuck in his throat. He swallowed a mouthful of whiskey to help it down and tried again.

“Well, I can tell you what I’m _not_ doing.”

“Uh, following Donut’s orders so he doesn’t murder you?” Tucker was already wearing his suit, and Grif felt vaguely disturbed to see that Donut had succeeded in finding an aquamarine tie and vest for him. Had Donut seriously matched everyone’s suits and dresses to their armor? Jesus. “He’s on the warpath. Though you cheered up Sarge. He thinks that you’re Runaway Bride-ing this shit.”

“Seriously?” When Tucker nodded, Grif grinned. “Nice. Sarge thinks he’s saved Simmons from unholy matrimony, and Donut is probably too busy having a meltdown to find and murder me. My odds of surviving today just went up.”

Tucker laughed. “Yeah, dude, I’m pretty sure it means two people are trying to kill you now.” He paused, looking thoughtful. “Three, if Sarge convinces Simmons that you actually ran away.”

“If I was going to run, I would’ve done it during Donut’s measurement crap,” Grif said. He watched Tucker get a hollow expression identical to Simmons. He almost felt bad. No one should have to remember that shit. He wiggled the whiskey bottle. “Want some?”

“Hell yeah, thanks,” said Tucker, and took a long swallow. Then he frowned. “Wait, this is Blue Team whiskey. And Caboose’s cookies. Why am I thanking you? You should be thanking me. Besides, I’m pissed at you.”

“Fine, I’ll put it on Simmons’ list for thank-you letters.” Then the final sentence clicked. Grif squinted at Tucker as he silently went over the last few days. He didn’t remember doing anything to piss him off. “Why are you pissed?” He threw out a few guesses. “Because Donut sent you to find me? Or the measurement thing? Because if it’s the second thing, we _all_ suffered. Besides, it’s Simmons’ fault for not being able to man up and tell Donut we didn’t need a wedding planner.”

“Uh, neither one. I’m pissed because this wedding is lame. You and Simmons couldn’t come up with _one_ bridesmaid between you? Didn’t Simmons have a whole lady squad on Chorus? I know he can’t talk to women, but I expected better of you, man.”

Grif rolled his eyes. “Sorry. Though really, dude, I’ve got three words for you: paternity lawsuits.”

Tucker glared. “That’s technically two words, dumbass. And also? Low blow. Low. Blow.”

“Yeah, I’m with Tucker. Where are all the ladies? I am ready for some hotties,” announced a familiar voice. A second later Kaikaina had Grif wrapped up in a bone-crushing hug. Any lingering anxiety vanished; his entire body felt lighter, like he’d just taken off his armor. Kai was way too fucking real to be a hallucination. Plus his ribs were starting to hurt. “Hey, big bro!”

“Ugh,” he groaned. He pretended to sag in her hug and threw in some fake breathlessness for good measure. “And...in the end…it wasn’t Donut or Sarge who...killed me….but my own sister….” She laughed and loosened her grip, though she didn’t completely let go. Some of Simmons’ dumb infectious sappiness welled up, and Grif pressed his face against her shoulder and wrapped his arms loosely around her waist. “Thanks for coming. I know you’re busy with your parties.”

After the UNSC had given her some made-up position of morale and liaison officer, Kai’s raves and festivals had moved from Blood Gulch to a few other quadrants. He couldn’t remember where she’d been last. Wherever the UNSC hoped a party would prevent bloodshed or some stupid shit like that. At least Kai was having fun.

“Well, duh. Who else was gonna walk you down the aisle? The gay guy? The other gay guy you convinced to marry you? That mean old dude?” Kai paused, scrunching up her face in thought, and then brightened. “The hot robot who choked me out?”

“Ugh,” Grif said, meaning it this time. “Please stop talking.”

Kaikaina laughed and gave him one last hug before she sauntered over and snatched the whiskey from Tucker, downing the rest of the bottle in a single swallow. Belatedly, Grif realized she was wearing a dress that matched his vest and tie, and showed off a lot of skin, all of which Tucker was currently eyeing with appreciation.

“Stop looking at my sister like that, jackass!”

Tucker grinned. “You do know I’ve seen everything already, right?”

“Yeah, you and everyone else at this fucking wedding,” Grif muttered.

Kai frowned. “Hey! I have some standards. That fucking cop you have greeting everyone hasn’t seen me naked.” She paused. Doubt crept into her face. “I think….. I don’t know, I was doing a lot of drugs when he visited the base. I could’ve been naked.”

“The cop?”

“Uh, the whiny cop bitch with the hot bitch,” Kai said, her tone suggesting it was a stupid question. “The ones I was talking to when that dessert guy grabbed me, made me change into this dress, and sent me looking for you.”

Grif and Tucker exchanged a confused look. At least Tucker seemed to have as much trouble understanding his sister as he did. “...You mean Wash and Carolina? And Donut?”

“Yeah! Carolina! Speaking of people I’d like to choke me out….”

Grif closed his eyes as Tucker fell into a half-laughing, half-coughing fit. “Kai, it’s my wedding day, so if you could keep your wet dreams to yourself, that’d be fucking great.” He opened his eyes. “Wait, Donut sent you to look for me? How’d you know I was here?”

Kai shot him a pitying look. “Dex, every time we played Hide and Seek as kids, you hid in the kitchen so you could eat while I counted to one hundred. It was here or the other kitchen, and that one is filled with fancy wedding food. It wasn’t rocket science.”

“An excellent deduction, Private Grif!” chirped a familiar voice. Both Grey and Kimball stood in the doorway. Grif almost didn’t recognize them out of armor, but he’d know Grey’s voice anywhere. “Based on previous observations of Captain Grif in times of stress and, well, in general, both Vanessa and I concluded that he would likely seek out what is colloquially called comfort food. And it seems we were correct!” Grey smiled brightly. “Congratulations on your nuptials, captain. All of Chorus sends its best wishes to you and Captain Simmons.”

Kai was staring at them, her eyes wide. “Wow, you both clean up hot,” she said breathlessly. “Dibs.”

“What?” Grif said as Tucker protested, “You can’t call dibs on people!”

Kai kept staring. “Double. Dibs.”

“Shit,” Tucker said, his shoulders slumping like she’d won the argument. “Just don’t call dibs on all the hot chicks, okay?”

“No promises,” Kai said. Tucker groaned loudly.  

Grey looked a little amused, but then she always did, like she was in on some grand cosmic joke.

Kimball just ignored the exchange, focusing on Grif. She seemed uncomfortable in her suit, as though she felt as weird as he did that she was out of her armor. After a second, she unbent enough to smile slightly and say, “Congratulations, Captain Grif. From what I understand, this day has been a long time coming, but I’m sure that you will be happy together.”

Tucker smirked. “A long time coming? You’ve got no idea, madam president. I called this back when we were all still privates here in freaking Blood Gulch. These losers took like fifty years to admit their feelings.”

“Shut up,” Grif said automatically, though he’d resigned himself a while ago that Tucker was never going to stop crowing how he’d called it. 

Kimball just continued as though Grif and Tucker hadn’t said a word. ”And I have to admit that it will be nice to attend a wedding as a guest.” They must have all looked confused, because her smile turned a little rueful. “Apparently having the president of Chorus officiate your wedding is a very popular request. There’s a lottery for it.”

“Oh, don’t pretend you dislike it, Vanessa,” said Grey, patting the other woman’s arm. “Marriage is one of the ultimate acts of hope, after all! To agree to such a union, one must trust that they’ve found someone whose feelings won’t alter through the years, who will remain with them for better or for worse and won’t abandon or betray them. They must believe that tomorrow’s evolving relationship will be as wonderful as today’s! After all that Chorus has been through, you love that its citizens have hope for the future.”

Kimball’s expression had softened during Grey’s speech. “Haven’t I told you not to psychoanalyze me, doctor?” She was smiling as she spoke, though, and Grey giggled as though it was an old joke.

“Damn,” said Tucker. He sounded a little choked up. “Grif, is it too late to tell Sarge he can’t officiate? Cause Dr. Grey just rocked that speech. And Sarge is...Sarge.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Dr. Grey said apologetically. “I’m not ordained. And before you ask, Vanessa is on vacation. Even the president of Chorus needs a few days off!”

Kimball grimaced in a way that made Grif suspect that the vacation hadn’t been her idea. “As you keep claiming. Captain Grif, Private Donut did seem genuinely distraught. You should probably inform him that you haven’t run away.”

“Ugh, fine. Come on, Kai.”

“Okay. I’ll see you two at the party.” Kai directed the second sentence at Kimball and Grey, throwing in an elaborate eyebrow waggle that made Tucker grin and the two women blink. She turned suddenly, hands on hips. “Oh, and Tucker, that vid you sent was like super grainy and I couldn’t see anything! Lame!”

“Oh, Jesus,” Grif said with feeling. “Tucker, if you sent my sister a sex tape or something--” Kai slapped him upside the head and he yelped. “Hey, no hitting the groom! That is totally a rule at weddings!”

“He sent me a vid of Junior’s last game, dumbass,” she told him. “The kid’s like the best at football.”

“Basketball,” Tucker corrected. 

Kai shrugged. “Whatever, sports are boring.”

“You’re just saying that because you got kicked off the cheerleading squad like five times.”

“No I’m not! Sports are _boring_! Unless you’re in like the Olympic village or something. Those athletes are into some hot, freaky shit. This one gymnast, he was so flexible, he could--”

“Kai! None of your slut stories on my wedding day! We agreed!”

“Ugh, whatever.” 

Tucker was obviously struggling with his curiosity. His jaw twitched. He pointed at Kai. “I demand to hear all the details at the party. Especially if there are some female athletes involved, if you know what I mean.”

“Oh yeah,” Kai assured him, grinning. “Did you know that table tennis is an Olympic sport? Man, did that chick know her way around a ping-pong.” She was still grinning when Grif growled, “Kai, one more word out of your mouth and I’ll have fucking Lopez walk me down the aisle and you can stay here.”

Kai shot him a disbelieving look, but kept her mouth shut.

Tucker looked a little glassy-eyed. “Ignore Grif. You’re telling me that story tonight.” Then he turned to Kimball and Grey, and gave himself a little shake as though to recalibrate his brain. His expression transformed. “Want to see the vid? Junior kicked some major ass. He’s gonna go pro after college! In fact, I should let him tell you about the game himself. He’s here for the wedding--”

Grif grabbed Kai’s arm. “Let’s get out while we can. Once he starts talking about Junior, he literally never stops.” Grif had missed out on some prime napping time learning that the hard way after he and Tucker had sort of become friends during the Temple and Blues and Reds thing. For all that Tucker was still pissed about the paternity stuff on Chorus, he was a great dad to Junior.

Sure enough, Tucker was still boasting about his kid when the door shut behind them.

In the hallway, Kai linked arms with Grif as they walked towards the exit. “So, you and Simmons. I guess I should’ve seen that coming. He’s totally your type. You dig nerds.”

Grif squinted at her, wondering if she was high already. He’d asked her to wait until after the party to do any drugs, but Kai was Kai, so who knows what she’d smoked or snorted. Nerds definitely weren’t his type. He was into cool, dangerous people. If he’d been into nerds, falling for Simmons wouldn’t have been a total fucking surprise. “I don’t date nerds. Name one I dated.”

“Haukea Sigrah and Akoni Kahue! They were totally smarter than you.”

“That doesn’t make them nerds! Plenty of people are smarter than me without being nerds, Kai.” She grinned at him as he realized he’d managed to insult himself. He glared as they stepped out into the sunlight. “Shut up. And Akoni was my dealer, not my boyfriend.”

“Um, then why were you practically eating his face when I came home from school that time--”

Grif used his free hand to cover her mouth. “Still not my boyfriend. I was a fucking teenager. I would have made out with anyone who offered. Also? He wasn't a nerd.”

Kai said something muffled. When he moved his hand, she said, “Whatever.” She smiled at him, a sudden, bright grin that wrinkled the corners of her eyes. “Still, I’m happy for you guys.” 

“DEXTER BARTHOLOMEW GRIF!”

“Your middle name is Bartholomew?” Kai asked, looking surprised as Donut’s outraged shriek rang through the canyon and Grif lost about five years off his life.

“No. It’s called creative license,” Donut said. He was breathing hard, and his face was flushed, as though he’d run all the way from Red Base. He probably had. His hands were indignant fists at his hips, creasing his suit. For the moment he seemed too furious with Grif to notice. “Grif, I gave you _one_ order: don’t leave your room! And what did you do?”

Grif figured that the question was hypothetical until Donut’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Um, I left my room?”

“Exactly,” Donut said. His expression made Grif inch behind his sister, who muttered that he was a coward even as she eyed Donut warily.

Grif thought frantically. “Look, I was, uh, worried that Sarge was going to find me and kill me before the wedding. I didn’t want to ruin your big day! My big day. Simmons’ big day. ….Our big day?” He hoped Donut would buy it.

Some of the anger left Donut’s face, though he still looked upset. He reached out, then paused as Grif flinched. “I’m not going to hurt you, silly! I worked hard to make you look amazing for this wedding. I’m not ruining that, even if I’m a little peeved. All is, well, not forgiven, but I do understand worrying about Sarge! He’s been singing to himself ever since I announced you were missing. I think I even heard one or two show tunes! Now come here.”

Reluctantly, Grif stepped from behind Kai and let Donut get closer.

Donut plucked the tie out of Grif’s pocket, and clucked over it like Grif remembered his grandmother fussing over his dirty school clothes. “I suppose I should be grateful you didn’t lose it,” he said at last, shaking his head and pursing his lips. “And that you don’t have any nasty stains!”

“Uh, yeah,” Grif said, relieved that the trick of hunching over the trash can with his whiskey and cookies had worked. He decided not to mention his good luck to Donut. He figured he wouldn’t find it funny.

Grif stood still while Donut knotted the tie around his neck, and endured the further invasion of his personal space as Donut pulled out a comb from who-knows-where and attacked his hair. Then Donut smoothed out any real or imagined wrinkles from the suit. Even when Donut picked what Grif suspected was a non-existent piece of lint off his ass, he figured he was getting off easy.

Finally Donut stepped back and gave him and Kai a critical look. “There’s something missing,” he muttered to himself, tapping his lips with a finger. He tweaked Grif’s orange pocket square, but shook his head, still unsatisfied. Then he laughed. “Oh, right, of course! I almost forgot.” Like a magician, he snapped his fingers and a pair of plumeria blossoms appeared in his hands. He tucked the first behind Kai’s ear, and the other looped around her wrist. “Perfect!”

When Grif took a deep breath, he smelled citrus. Celadine had always been his favorite variety of plumeria, the one his dad had grown in their garden. He wondered if Donut knew, or if he’d just gone with a variety that matched Kai’s dress. Either way, he felt sappy again, watching Kai lift her wrist to her nose and breathe in the flower’s scent. It reminded him of her first middle school dance, the only one she’d attended without getting kicked out early or arrested or pregnant. (Or, on one memorable night, all three.)

“Thanks, Donut,” he said, meaning it. “You’ve done a great job with the wedding.”

Donut looked startled by the compliment, but gratified. “It was my pleasure. I’m just glad I fit everything in! It was really tight for a while there, you know, making sure everyone got what they wanted.” Before Grif could regret his compliment, Donut added, “Well! Are you ready to walk down the aisle? I have Caboose announcing--”

He was interrupted by what sounded like one or two minor explosions. A second later, Caboose’s amplified voice rang out. “Hello, everybody! Donut said to tell everyone that Grif isn’t dead or a runaway bride, so please find a seat! We have lots of chairs, so it should be easy! If you get lost, as some people maybe have before, just stay where you are and shout for help until someone finds you! THE WEDDING IS IN FIFTEEN MINUTES!” In a quieter but still clearly amplified voice, Caboose added, “Mister Sarge, stop crying! I know you’re happy the wedding is still on, but you’re getting tears on your nice suit!”

Donut’s eyes widened in alarm. “He’s going to ruin his outfit! Kai, can you take Grif to the waiting area?” He didn’t wait for a reply, bolting towards the Red Base.

Grif stared after him. Caboose’s words had been like a grenade to the head. For the first time all day, maybe for the first time since the proposal, it completely sunk in that this wedding was actually happening. In a few minutes he and Simmons were going to stand in front of everyone and say “I do” and all that romantic shit. 

“Come on, bro.” Kai tugged on Grif’s arm when he didn’t move. “Let’s go.”

“Holy shit,” Grif said, and didn’t recognize his own voice. “I’m getting married.”

Kai gave him a weird look. “Duh, in like fifteen minutes. Did you sleepwalk through the last few months?”

Grif remembered Grey talking about marriage being the two people trusting each other not to abandon or betray them. He’d already fucked that one up, even if he’d apologized. He imagined Sarge reminding Simmons of that in his officiant speech. His stomach sank. Why had he agreed to an actual wedding again? They could’ve run off to the Vegas Quadrant and gotten hitched by a complete stranger before Simmons could realize that he’d made a mistake.

“Fuck. We should’ve eloped.”

“No way. Donut would’ve straight-up murdered you both.” Kai’s voice changed. “Hey, hey, Dex.” Kai’s face was suddenly very close to his. There was a crease between her eyes, and she frowned. She gave him a little shake. “Come on, dumbass, take a breath. I have fifty bucks on Simmons fainting, not you.”

“Who took that action? That’s a sucker’s bet,” Grif muttered, but obeyed. He took one breath, then another, until the buzzing in his ears cleared.

Kai studied him. Apparently satisfied he wasn’t about to collapse, she snorted and patted his arm, making a few half-assed attempts to smooth his creased sleeves. “Man, I don’t remember you being this weird when we were kids. So what the fuck was that about?”

Grif didn’t answer her immediately. Now that he wasn’t panicking, he knew better than to worry that Simmons would call off the wedding. Simmons actually wanted to marry him. Go figure. Maybe it was mutual Stockholm Syndrome or something. He avoided Kai’s eyes and shrugged, embarrassed to admit that he’d gotten all worked up over nothing. “No idea. Maybe my tie’s on too tight.”

“Bullshit,” Kai said, matter-of-factly. She smiled at him. It was a rare smile, one he almost didn’t recognize. It was the reassuring smile she’d worn the day he’d left for basic training, when he’d tried to hide his terrified conviction that he was going to die in this stupid war. She’d told him not to worry, he wasn’t cool enough to die in battle. He’d survive and come home.

He wasn’t surprised when she said, “Don’t worry, Dex. You might be a hero now, but you’re still my boring brother. You and Simmons are gonna get married, have three dogs and six kids, and live all that lame white picket fence shit.” She wrinkled her nose. “You’re gonna have to find someone else to be their godmother, though. I call dibs on being the cool aunt. I can take them to their first raves!”

“You can’t call dibs on everything you want. And fuck no, you’re not going to be the cool aunt. You’ll be the bad example I point at whenever my kids do some dumb shit,” Grif said. Then he shuddered as he actually imagined being a dad. Would he turn into someone like Tucker, making people look at photos of his kids like a weirdo? “Not that we’re having kids. Jesus. Who wants all that responsibility? Not me, that’s for sure.”

“Uh huh,” Kai said in an unconvinced tone. She eyed him for a few seconds and then extended her arm. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah. Plus I honestly think Donut’s brain will explode if we’re late.”

“Aw, that sounds funny,” Kai said, looking intrigued. “Are you sure we couldn’t be a _little_ late--”

“No,” Grif said, and Kai sighed.

“You’re not even married yet, and you’re already super lame.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I am a nerd, I spent a ridiculous amount of time looking for color-coordinated wedding outfits, so [here](https://ae01.alicdn.com/kf/HTB1DmqvJXXXXXXHXpXXq6xXFXXXh/Custom-Made-Groom-Tuxedo-Terno-Noivo-Bespoke-White-suits-with-orange-vest-waistcoat-Tailor-Made-Male.jpg_640x640.jpg) are Grif and Kai's wedding looks.
> 
> Also, I am happy to talk about this fandom to anyone, whether in the comments or on [Tumblr](http://cinaed.tumblr.com/)!


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ceremony: Grif and Simmons attempt their vows, some dirty Blues can't keep their mouths shut, Sarge learns that they all live in a cruel and heartless universe, and Donut flashes everyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this early because my internet's been flaky and I don't trust it not to completely give out this weekend. Thank you so much for all the lovely comments! I hope you enjoy the update. 
> 
> All of Lopez's lines are from Google Translate because if that's how RvB rolls, that's how I roll.

Grif and Simmons actually hadn’t argued that much about the wedding. Grif was fine with pawning off all the hard work onto Donut, and would’ve been equally fine getting hitched in his armor if it meant that he and Simmons were married. But of course Simmons was a big girl who’d probably been dreaming of his wedding since he was a kid, and had a million fucking opinions.

In the end, they’d argued about four things.

First: Simmons had wanted his father to walk him down the aisle. Apparently the old man was still alive in a retirement home on Earth. Grif had said hell no, there was no way that asshole was coming to their wedding. The bastard could make do with a video. They’d had a few screaming matches until Grif had thrown his arms up in the air and shouted, “Jesus, I get the whole wanting to rub your happiness in someone's face, but fuck that guy! I would honestly prefer Sarge walk you down the aisle.” He figured he’d both won and lost that argument.

Second: Donut had wanted to make traditional Hawaiian fare and vegetarian dishes for the party. Grif liked Hawaiian food fine, tradition and home and blah blah blah, but honestly? His favorite meal was an old-fashioned chili burger with fries and Oreos for dessert. Apparently that wasn’t fucking romantic or something. Donut and Simmons had teamed up and Grif had lost the argument, though at least he’d gotten an Oreo wedding cake as a consolation prize.

Third: If he were being honest, Grif had gone his entire life confusing the Bridal March and the Funeral March, and hadn’t really cared, because they were both sucky songs. He wanted something cool and meaningful, like getting to saunter down the aisle with Kai to the music that always blasted from the Warthog. It would’ve actually been romantic as fuck, no matter what Simmons said. Grif lost that argument too, though at least "Ke Kali Nei Au" had a catchier beat than the Bridal March.

Fourth: It had only been a few weeks before the wedding that Donut had been going over the plans and looked up with a frown. “Oh dear, I didn’t even think to ask. Which one of you is walking down the aisle first?” Grif had laughed at the horrified look on Simmons’ face. It _had_ been funny...for about five seconds, until Simmons had completely freaked out when Grif had shrugged and suggested they flip a coin. Grif had won that one by interrupting an increasingly screechy pros and cons list with the valid point that Sarge was the officiant and should probably be at the altar first. He didn’t look forward to seeing Sarge glowering at him while he walked down the aisle, but at least it had calmed Simmons down.

Of course, he’d also agreed to have Sarge and Simmons go first when he hadn’t known he was wearing white. He steeled himself for the possibility of even more bride jokes than already anticipated, and whispered to Kai as the music began to play, “Did you see Simmons? What color suit is he wearing?”

Kai hissed at him, startling him enough that he actually took a step back. She was squinting, her foot tapping an off-tempo beat in the dirt. “You’ll see him in like five minutes, cool your tits! Donut made me listen to this song like a million times to learn our cue.”

“Fine, whatever,” Grif said. His chest tightened with nerves, a lump forming in his throat as a few people began to clap. He thought he heard Jensen’s familiar voice cheering. Simmons must be walking down the aisle. He shifted from one foot to the other. The sun beat down on the back of his neck. He wondered if Simmons had remembered to put on sunscreen. Probably not. He’d end up looking like a cyborg lobster for their honeymoon.

“Hello!” Caboose shouted cheerfully, interrupting Grif's thoughts. “Welcome to Simmons and Grif’s wedding! I hope you like flowers! I _love_ flowers!” He continued talking, saying hello to a few people in the crowd and sounding delighted with everyone and everything, until he finally either got to the altar or he ran out of flowers. Whatever the case, he stopped talking. Judging by the lack of yells or complaints, he’d managed to throw the flowers without getting any petals in people’s eyes.

“It’s a wedding miracle,” Grif said, but under his breath, so Kai wouldn’t yell at him.

A minute later, Tucker yelled, “Fuck yeah, Junior! Best ring-bearer ever!”

“Was I good too, Tucker?” Caboose asked loudly.

“Yeah, Caboose, you did great.”

“Oh good! I thought so, since I threw all the flowers the way Donut and I practiced, but I wasn’t sure. Sometimes I think I've done something right, but you know what? It turns out I did it wrong!”

The music’s volume increased, as though to drown them out.

Kai grabbed Grif’s arm. “That’s us!” She beamed and leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. “Come on, Dex. Time to get you hitched so you can stop being a big baby about it.”

He didn’t trust himself to speak, just stuck his tongue out at her and stepped around the boulder. Donut had decided to have the wedding outside in one of the smaller canyons near the Red Base, where no one, as far as anyone knew, had died or been shot. 

At first all Grif noticed was how the aisle was carpeted with flowers, their citrus scent filling the air. There was no way to avoid stepping on them. How many flowers had Donut given Caboose to throw around? Then the music changed, shifting from the familiar strains of "Ke Kali Nei Au" to the much more familiar tune of the Warthog’s music. Grif turned in Kai’s grip, searching for the source of the music, and gave Lopez an enthusiastic thumbs-up. “Thanks, man!”

Lopez stared back. “No me agradezcas. Odio a tu marido más de lo que te odio, y él no quería esta música.” _Don't thank me. I just hate your husband more than I hate you, and he didn't want this music._

Grif grinned. About to remind Lopez that he wasn't married yet, he looked down the aisle towards Simmons and lost his train of thought.

Simmons wasn’t wearing white, except for his shirt. The black of his suit combined with the maroon of his tie and vest made his hair even brighter and his freckles even more obvious. Or maybe that was how pale Simmons was, all the color gone from his face except for the cyborg part that gleamed in the sun. Grif remembered Kai’s bet, and wondered if he should’ve taken the joke about Simmons passing out in the middle of the ceremony more seriously.

It seemed like forever and no time at all before he stood next to Simmons. He was vaguely aware of Kai squeezing his arm and letting go, but he kept staring.

Simmons opened his mouth, then closed it. This close, Grif could see that his real eye was rimmed red, like that earlier misty-eyed look had given away to actual tears. He looked Grif up and down, his amazed gaze lingering on the orange pocket square and Grif’s hair. “Grif, you look…..”

The tightness disappeared from Grif’s throat as Simmons floundered for words. “If you say like a blushing bride, I’m gonna annul the wedding.” Laughter swept through the crowd, loud enough that he was pretty sure only he and maybe Simmons heard Sarge’s whisper of, “Do it, Simmons. Say it and you’ll be free.”

“You said you were going to behave, jackass,” Simmons said without heat, his eyes fixed on Grif’s. To Grif, his voice seemed steadier, but maybe that was just wishful thinking.

“Hey, I didn’t just swear. You did. Who’s not behaving?” Grif paused. Some of Caboose’s flowers had gone astray; a few petals clung to Simmons’ sleeve, unnoticed. He brushed them off, enjoying the red that colored Simmons’ face as he added, “Looks like even a nerd cleans up nice for his wedding.”

Simmons smiled crookedly, his expression soft. “You look good too.”

“Dear Lord, can we please get on with this farce?” Sarge barked, making them both jump. Sarge looked grim-- grimmer, actually, than he’d been when they’d jumped the gun and held Simmons’ funeral that time. “I’ve been promised enough booze after this to wipe this awful memory from my mind.”

“I accept your wholehearted congratulations, Sarge,” Grif said, inclined to press his luck now that he and Simmons were standing at the altar, and grinned at Sarge’s low growl.

Sarge sighed gustily and straightened. His voice boomed out over the crowd. “Welcome, family, friends, and everyone else. You know why you’re here. Grif and Simmons want to get married, and for some reason the universe hasn’t seen fit to prevent the wedding. They also want all of us to witness it.” Sarge paused. His throat worked, and Grif wondered if he was going to start crying again.

“It’s okay, Mister Sarge! You can do it!” Caboose called encouragingly.

“Yeah,” Grif drawled. “The speech is great so far. I’m super impressed.”

Sarge glared for a second before he gave himself a quick shake and raised his voice again. “Some folks say that marriage is perhaps the greatest and most challenging adventure of human relationships. That might be so, though I know that leading the Red Team has been the most challenging adventure of _my_ life. I’ve watched Simmons grow into a fine man and exemplary soldier--” Simmons sniffled loudly, his remaining eye suspiciously bright. “--while Grif has proved too stubborn to die! Somewhere along the way these two decided that they love each other. Could’ve knocked me over with a feather when they told me, but sometimes you don’t see what’s right in front of your eyes.”

“Yeah, what’s right in front of your eyes for like a million years!” Tucker said in a stage whisper, raising his fist to Kai, who giggled and obliged him with a fist bump.

“Pipe down, ya dirty Blues! No one asked you,” Sarge snapped. He cleared his throat. His features settled again into grim lines. “Son, I want you to think very, very carefully about this question, because there are no take-backs. Well, I suppose there’s always divorce, but then Grif will get half of what you own! You can’t possibly want Grif touching your stuff.”

There was a pause, broken only by Tucker’s low, “He definitely wants Grif to touch his stuff. Bow chicka wow wow,” that either Sarge didn’t hear or was steadfastly ignoring. 

Simmons still seemed dazed by Sarge’s compliment.

Grif couldn’t help himself. “Was there a question in there somewhere, Sarge?”

“Oh, right! Simmons, do you take Grif to be your wedded husband?”

Simmons sniffled again, and coughed. “I do,” he said, his voice scratchy.

“We can’t hear you!” someone scolded from among the guests. The voice sounded like Donut's. 

“Oh, sorry! I do!” Simmons said loudly, and then smiled like an idiot.

Sarge didn’t smile back. “I see. And do you, Grif, take Simmons to be your wedded husband?”

“I do,” Grif said quickly, before Sarge could say anything else.

Sarge looked around. He even glanced upward, as though holding out hope that some last-minute lightning bolt would strike Grif down. Nothing happened, other than some cheering and clapping from the crowd. His expression turned even sourer. “Fine. I understand that you want to say some vows. Simmons, are you going first?”

“I, uh,” said Simmons, looking a little panicked. Judging by the imploring look he directed at Grif, his entire speech -- that Grif knew for a fact he’d spent the last two weeks revising approximately fifty bazillion times and still wasn’t completely satisfied with, judging by his pacing and muttering last night -- had fallen out of his head. Grif probably should’ve let him bring his note cards.

“I will,” Grif said, and watched relief spread across Simmons’ face. He cleared his throat and remembered too late that he hadn’t actually planned his speech. He’d meant to, honestly, since he figured Simmons would be disappointed if he didn’t, but he’d somehow never gotten around to it. He wondered if he could wing it. Eh, he had a fifty-fifty shot at not getting his ring thrown in his face. 

“When you--” He stopped before Donut could yell to speak louder. He raised his voice, though he directed the words at Simmons. “When you think about your future spouse, you picture a lot of things. Someone brilliant, someone hot, someone successful. And then time goes by and you realize that you’re never going to be that lucky. Sometimes you have to settle. I didn’t picture a nerd who’s a major kiss-ass and afraid of snakes and still, _still_ , after all the years we’ve known each other, is convinced that someday I’m gonna play Dungeons and Dragons with him.”

“Stop, I’m blushing,” Simmons said, not blushing. The glint in his non-cybernetic eye promised another rant about the historical importance and longevity of Dungeons and Dragons, saved for a moment they weren’t being avidly watched by friends and family.

Grif rubbed the back of his neck. So far it wasn’t going as well as he’d hoped. He repeated his vows silently to himself and grimaced. Even he could tell that wasn’t romantic or particularly nice. “So that sounded better in my head.”

“How?” Simmons demanded, his arms folded against his chest. His exasperation was tinged with disbelief. “How could that possibly have sounded better in your head?” 

Grif threw up his hands. “Simmons, I didn’t expect you at all! So imagine my fucking surprise when I realized I wasn’t settling, that it had to be you or nothing.” Simmons’ expression went blank. Grif stared at him. Was that a good sign or a bad one? Had he completely fucked up? He glanced at Kai, but she had her face pressed against Tucker’s shoulder, her shoulders shaking with either horror or laughter. He licked his lips. “Hey, earth to Simmons. It’s you or nothing, buddy. I l--” The word was lodged somewhere between his chest and his mouth. He loosened his tie, ignoring Donut’s cry of dismay, and cleared his throat. His heart pounded unsteadily in his ears, so loud that he could barely hear himself say, “I...uh… I love you, okay? In that whole cheesy til death do us part way.” 

For a second, Simmons’ face stayed blank. Then one corner of his mouth twitched. Relief shot through Grif as Simmons said, in that lame mock-serious voice of his when he was trying to be funny, “I give that a B-. Mostly terrible, but you got there in the end.”

“Eh, I’ll take it,” Grif said as Simmons’ smile widened. He started to lean forward, and then jerked back when Sarge waved a hand between their faces and snapped, “No kissing until the officiant says so! What are you, as shameless a hussy as your sister?”

“Uh, sorry, sir,” Simmons said, looking a little guilty.

“Lay off my sister, Sarge. And hey, Simmons? When you’re saying your vows, remember that you’re supposed to be kissing _my_ ass,” Grif reminded him helpfully.

“Like you kissed mine?” Simmons snorted. Then he bit his lip. His eyes flickered, like he was still trying to remember his forgotten speech. “Grif, I take you as my husband,” he began, words slow and measured, “with your faults and your--”

“Are you quoting something?” Grif asked suspiciously. He’d known Simmons was trying to memorize his vows, but this sounded less like something cheesy he'd come up with himself and more like a lame quotation.

Simmons flushed, confirming Grif’s hunch. “I looked at a lot of wedding vows! They’re all traditional for a reason. And this one seemed the most appropriate.”

“Sure, since it mentions my faults and all.”

“At least I didn’t list them off like you did! And ophidiophobia is a very common fear, so I don’t really think it should be listed as one of my faults.”

Grif pretended to look hurt and tapped his chest. “Come on, I gave you a speech from the heart, man. The least you could do is try something original.”

“Fine!” Simmons yelped. He cleared his throat, turning redder at a few laughs from their guests. “I mean, fine.” Then he stood there like a lump. Grif thought he could almost see his brain dribble out of his ears. “Um.” The embarrassed flush left his face, leaving him the same sickly pale color as when Grif had reached the altar. Sweat broke out on his forehead. His fingers tapped nervously at his sides. “Grif. You. Um.”

He looked ready to fall over. Grif could even see his pulse beating rapidly in his throat. He should have known Simmons would panic as soon as things deviated from his grand plan. Grif tried to think of something that would distract him, and glanced sideways into the crowd. “Before you say anything, you should know Kai put fifty bucks on you fainting.”

Kai shrieked in outrage. “Dex, you better be glad that today’s your wedding, because otherwise snitches get fucking stitches!” She paused. “And Tucker bet me fifty bucks you’d faint first!”

Grif stared at Tucker, who protested weakly, “Hey, snitches get… You know what, never mind. Yeah, I did. Simmons at least acknowledges his feelings sometimes. You sound strangled whenever you try to say something nice about your friends! I guess you've gotten a little better since the moon, but seriously dude, don't you remember how hard you failed at announcing your freaking engagement? I thought you were going to fall over as soon as you tried to say you loved him!”

“Thanks,” Grif said sarcastically. "Really feeling the support." 

“I’m not going to faint,” Simmons said, looking offended.

“Ugh, there goes my fifty bucks.” Kai brightened. “Hey, Grif didn’t faint either! That means my fifty bucks is safe!”

“ _Anyway_ ,” Simmons said loudly. “Back to my vows on this very special and romantic occasion, without any further interruptions.”

“Or people could keep interrupting! And delay this as long as possible!” Sarge didn’t quite wilt as Simmons and Grif both stared at him, but his shoulders slumped a little. “Or Simmons can get another crack at his wedding vows.”

“Thank you, sir.” Simmons cleared his throat. “Grif, I could list all your faults. I could list your virtues, too, because as much as you hate to admit it, you have some. You’re loyal to your friends, and will do the right thing in the end, even if it takes you awhile to get there. But you know what? Right now all of that doesn’t matter. Because I know why we’re here. We’re here because I love you, and you love me, and after all the crazy shit we’ve been through, we deserve to be happy. So it’s all or nothing for me too.”

It took Grif a minute to realize that Simmons was done. “Well,” he began, and winced at the damn wobble in his voice as Simmons looked pleased with himself. “Bet you’re glad now I told you to do something original.”

“Yeah,” Simmons said softly. His eyes met Grif’s, one glowing red, one warm with emotion. Grif almost took a step closer, and only stopped himself by remembering Sarge’s hand swinging between them.  

“Well, now that that’s done, we’ve come to my favorite part of the ceremony!” Sarge announced, sounding so cheerful that Grif jerked his eyes from Simmons’ to stare. For the first time since the wedding began, Sarge had brightened. Some of the disappointed lines in his face smoothed out. “One last thing before we get to the rings. I have an important request of the people who sit here today!” He cleared his throat and said, loudly but with careful diction, “If any of you has reasons why these two should not be married, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

There was silence. Grif sighed. He didn’t know why he was surprised. He’d thought it was a little suspicious that Sarge had been paying so much attention to Donut’s romantic comedy movie marathon the other week.

When no one spoke, Sarge bellowed, “I said, if any of you has reasons why these two should not be married, speak now or forever hold your peace. Speak now! Right now! If you say it after the wedding, it’ll be too late! We’ll never save Simmons from this awful mistake!”

Grif was pretty sure the silence had turned awkward. He didn't care. He was too busy watching Sarge’s face fall as he realized that no one was going to stop the wedding at the very last moment like in half of those dumb movies. Grif sort of wanted that look of disappointment framed.

“Fine. Fine,” Sarge muttered to himself. “This is on all your heads.” Ungraciously, he turned and barked at Junior, “Bring the rings then!”

“Blargh,” Junior said unhappily, shuffling forward. Grif had assumed the ring cushion was toast, what with the claws at the tips of Junior's six fingers, and was pleasantly surprised to see the cushion intact in Junior's careful grip. Grif had never figured out how to understand the kid, but he didn't need to. Junior managed to radiate embarrassed teen misery. Or maybe that was just the super ridiculous suit and tie he was wearing making him look awkward.

“Aw, yeah, that’s my boy!” Tucker called.

Junior towered over them, but still attempted to hunch in embarrassment, avoiding his father’s eyes.

“Sorry, kid,” Grif said. “Believe me, this wasn’t my idea. I told Tucker that the ring-bearer is usually like a five-year-old and that you age in like dog years or whatever, but you know your dad.”

“Blargh,” said Junior in resigned agreement. He held out the cushion to Sarge.

Sarge grabbed the first ring. For a second he just clutched at it, scowling, and then thrust it at Simmons so abruptly that Simmons yelped in surprise and almost dropped it. “Here, Simmons. Repeat after me: I give you this ring, as...as….” Sarge’s face turned red. A vein bulged alarmingly in his forehead. Grif watched it with interest, wondering if Sarge’s wedding present was going to be an aneurysm.

“Do you need your line, Sarge?” Donut asked. “It’s ‘I give you this ring, as a daily reminder of my love for you.’”

“I ain’t saying that!” Sarge snapped. Apparently he’d reached his breaking point, because he actually crossed his arms and glowered in Donut’s direction.

Simmons coughed. “Excuse me, sir? I think we might be able to take it from here.” Sarge looked at him, and he laughed nervously. “U-unless you have a better way for us to exchange rings! Always looking forward to your input. I mean, it’s not like Donut’s suggestion has a tradition of hundreds of years or anything--”

“Oh, Jesus,” Grif said. “We were so close to getting through this without you kissing Sarge’s ass.” He held out his hand. “Lay it on me.”

“Lay it on you?” Simmons repeated, wavering between amused and offended and leaning towards offended. “Seriously?”

Grif shrugged. “Or you can say Donut’s sappy shit.”

Simmons stared at him, his expression shifting to one Grif couldn’t read. It wasn’t the blankness of before; this time there were too many emotions for Grif to pick out any individual one. The ring gleamed gold against the metal of his cyborg hand.

The quiet stretched out for what seemed like minutes, though Grif knew that was only in his head. He swallowed, instinctively wanting to break the silence, maybe point out that they couldn’t even wear the rings under their armor, and just as instinctively not wanting to interrupt and somehow fuck things up. Any thought of speaking died when Simmons took his hand. Grif would have thought he’d be shaking from nerves after that near brush with a panic attack, but his hands were as steady as when he handled the Warthog’s turret or his rocket launcher as he slid the ring on Grif’s finger. 

Quietly, as though Grif was the only person in the canyon, Simmons said, “Grif, I give you this ring as a reminder that even though our first meeting was one of the universe’s cosmic coincidences, it’s still the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Grif had expected sappiness, but somehow he hadn’t expected that. He remembered how Simmons had looked at him after they’d fought Gene, knowing that the years-old conversation had stayed with him as well, every single word of it. That had been a turning point, Grif thought, though at the time he hadn’t known it. His face heated, and he was glad that his side with Simmons' pasty white skin graft wasn't turned to their guests, so that it only obvious to Sarge and Simmons that he was blushing.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice a croak. He fumbled with the second ring. It took two tries to get the ring onto Simmons’ finger. “Uh, same.” For a second they both just looked at each other, Simmons’ real eye taking on a familiar brightness.

Then Sarge cleared his throat and growled, sounding as though each word hurt to say, “By the power vested in me as your commanding officer, I now pronounce you husband and husband.” 

“You may now kiss!” Donut said, when it became clear that Sarge wasn’t going to say it.

Grif didn’t need any more encouragement. He grabbed Simmons’ tie and pulled him in for the kiss he’d wanted since he’d first seen Simmons standing at the altar. Simmons seemed to be just as eager, because he kissed back without his usual self-consciousness. One hand curled into Grif’s hair and the other clutched at Grif’s hip, keeping him close. If Grif hadn’t been busy kissing him, he would’ve told Simmons he wasn’t planning on moving. He wondered if they could get away with stealing the wedding cake and skipping the party in favor of getting an early start on their honeymoon. 

Then Simmons drew back a little, a small, puzzled crease in his forehead. His tongue passed slowly over his lips. Grif could tell the second that it registered that he’d had whiskey and Oreos right before the wedding, because Simmons sighed.

To delay any fussing, Grif leaned forward to kiss him again. A second later he reeled back as a sudden glaring light shot directly into his eyeballs. He clapped his hands over his face and yelped in agony. “What the fuck?” His eyes watered. When he took his hands away, his vision was swimming with bright spots.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to flash you!” Donut said. “Can you two try that again?”

Grif glared in the direction of Donut’s voice. He rubbed at his eyes. “No, because I _can’t fucking see_. Jesus Christ! Simmons, you promised to love me for better or worse. No ditching me now that Donut fucking blinded me.”

“Actually, you made me do an original wedding vow, remember? I didn’t mention anything about in sickness and health. I could abandon you right now and you’d only have yourself to blame.” Simmons’ hands turned his heartless words into a lie, gently cupping Grif’s face as Grif blinked away tears. “Is your vision clearing up at all? Do you want Dr. Grey to take a look?”

“Nah, I’m okay,” Grif said after another second. Each blink seemed to help, until finally the bright spots vanished and he could see Simmons’ concerned little frown. He didn’t move, even though Simmons’ ring was digging a little into his neck. He wondered if he could get one more kiss from Simmons before--

Donut clapped his hands. Simmons turned towards him, hands dropping to his sides, and Grif swallowed a sigh. “Well, everyone, gather around for the wedding photos. We’ll start with the whole wedding party. This time without any flashing, of course!”

The next few minutes involved a lot of awkward shuffling and crouching and the occasional person having to stand on a chair, with an unpleasant bonus of Donut treating everyone like his own personal mannequins. After Donut had fussed about Grif mangling not one but two pairs of ties and redid them, Grif ended up between Simmons and Kai, the latter of whom rested her head on his shoulder and said cheerfully, “That was sweet. Super weird, but sweet.”

Grif was about to thank her when she added, “Also, Simmons, I didn’t think you’d be a good kisser, but that looked hot. I mean, as long as I watched you and not my brother because, uh, gross--”

“Um, thank you, I think?” Simmons said before she could say anything else. His face had turned a new bright red shade, and his voice was an embarrassed squeak.

Looking at that blush, which had turned even the tips of Simmons’ ears a pretty fucking adorable shade of pink, Grif figured his chances of getting Simmons to kiss him again in public had just gone down to zero, at least for the rest of the day. He sighed. So much for an early honeymoon. “Kai, don’t hit on Simmons.”

“I wasn’t hitting on him!” Kai protested. “I know brothers-in-law are, like, totally off-limits. I’m not a homewrecker.”

Grif might’ve corrected her -- he could remember off the top of his head at least two examples of her breaking up a marriage -- but his stomach did a funny little flip when Kai called Simmons her brother-in-law. He settled for just rolling his eyes.

“Okay, everyone, we’re ready!” Donut called from behind his tripod. “Caboose, look towards the camera. No, over here. No, Caboose, right here. No-- thank you, Tucker. Sarge, I’d love to see you smile! ...On second thought, a neutral expression is fine. All right. On the count of five, everyone say cheese!”

Simmons’ hand brushed Grif’s as everyone dutifully began the five-count and Donut scrambled from behind the tripod to position himself in his spot within the group. Grif turned his head just enough to watch Simmons smile as the camera took a burst of photos accompanied by loud clicking sounds.

As soon as the noise stopped, Donut darted back behind the camera to inspect the results. He tsked. “Grif, you were supposed to look at the camera, not at Simmons.” He didn’t follow up the complaint by ordering everyone to hold their places, though, so Grif guessed that the photos had turned out okay. “Wash, Carolina, everyone from Chorus, you can head over to the pavilion now. We’ll be finished in a few more minutes. Now, let’s do a few Red Team photos!”

“Wait.” Grif watched Grey and Kimball and the lieutenants break off from the group and begin to drift in the direction Donut had set up the pavilion with its tables and dance floor. Wash and Carolina followed, both looking relieved to have escaped more photos. Kai went to stand over by Tucker and Junior. A horrible suspicion filled him. He squeezed Simmons’ hand and asked urgently, “Does that mean they get to eat the appetizers first?”

“We prepared plenty of hors d'oeuvres, Grif,” Donut said as he attempted to maneuver Lopez into standing beside them, grunting a little as he pushed at the uncooperative robot. Lopez asked, "¿Por que estoy aqui? Odio a todos ustedes." _Why am I even here? I hate all of you people._ Donut paused, looking momentarily stricken. "You're right, Lopez! I really should have brought something for you to enjoy as well. I promise I'll make it up to you somehow."

Grif took the hors d'oeuvres remark as a yes. “Fuck that, man, I’m the groom. Uh, one of the grooms. I shouldn’t have to stand around and have dumb photos taken while other people are eating my food!”

“Great priorities, Grif,” Simmons sighed. When Grif looked at him, though, he seemed amused and weirdly smug. It was a better look on him than it probably should’ve been. “It’s a good thing I already had the waitstaff prepare two appetizer plates just for you. Give Donut another ten minutes and you can eat to your heart’s content.”

Simmons had preemptively set aside food for him? “Aw, you really do get me. This marriage might work out after all.” Grif tried to sound mocking, but judging by the way Simmons’ eye widened, he’d sounded more sincere than he’d meant to let on. Maybe marrying Simmons had broken his ability to conceal genuine emotion within sarcasm. Fuck. 

Before he could worry too much, Donut said, “Come on, Sarge, you need to get closer than that.” Grif realized that Donut was still trying to arrange the Red Team for the next photo. Lopez stared blankly from behind Grif, his face as expressionless as ever, though his tie gave him the same sullen air as Junior.

Sarge, meanwhile, wasn’t budging from where he stood. He’d obviously been hovering at the edge of the group during the last photo, hoping to be out of frame. He glowered. “I may have participated in that farce of a wedding, but this is where I put my boot down! I don’t want to remember any of this. That means no photos, no--”

“Come on, dude, just suck it up and do the photo,” Tucker called impatiently. “I want Donut to take a picture of Junior in his awesome wedding suit so we can go eat some appetizers! All I’ve had today is Oreos and whiskey, since you put bombs in the fucking pancakes. I’m starving.”

“Blargh.”

Tucker turned towards Junior, frowning. “No, you don’t look stupid. All Tucker men look badass in suits. It’s part of our DNA. Hey guys, tell Junior how great he looks!”

“Of course he looks great. I hand-stitched his suit myself,” Donut snapped. He looked fed up. “Do you _know_ how difficult it was to design something form-fitting and aesthetically pleasing for everyone in the wedding party?” 

“And we all appreciate it,” Simmons said. He smiled nervously at Sarge. “One more photo, Sarge? Please? I for one would like to remember you as our officiant. You did an excellent job, after all.”

“That’s spreading it a little thick, don’t you think?” Grif said, and then grumbled about spousal abuse under his breath when Simmons elbowed him.

Sarge sighed. He looked defeated, like he had on the moon, when he’d been stir-crazy and having a year-long nervous breakdown that had ended in a brief betrayal of the Reds and Blues. Grif might’ve felt sorry for him if this time the look of bone-deep defeat didn’t come from a hissy-fit over Simmons and Grif’s wedding. Seriously, fuck that. “Fine.” With great reluctance, Sarge shambled over to a position just behind Simmons’ shoulder. There he stood, scowling.

This was going to be a _great_ Red Team photo, Grif could feel it. He watched as Donut stepped back to the tripod to fiddle with the camera and mutter, first to himself, and then to Tucker, who was trying to squint through the camera lens over Donut’s shoulder.

“Well, son, you’ve made your bed now,” Sarge said to Simmons, still glowering. “Guess you’ll have to lie in it.”

“Yeah he will,” Tucker said. He held up a hand for a high-five from Junior or Donut. When Junior just stared and Donut ignored him, he turned and high-fived Kai instead.

Simmons’ smile had gone slightly lopsided. Grif watched him sweat a little, struggling with the instinctive desire to kiss Sarge’s ass even though Sarge was being negative about Simmons’ wedding day. That vein in his throat was fluttering again.

Before his head could explode, Grif interjected with a snide, “Actually, we’re sleeping in the Blue base for our first night of the honeymoon, remember? So we’re not in his bed tonight.” When it doubt, always stick to the status quo of mocking Sarge at every opportunity.

Sarge’s eyes narrowed. He stared at them both; Grif wondered if he was still hoping for a miracle, that some new enemies would drop out of the sky and kill Grif. Then abruptly Sarge clapped heavy hands to both Simmons and Grif’s shoulders. The painful squeeze made Grif bite back a yelp. Sarge shook his head. “What’s done is done, I suppose. You two made a commitment to each other, one that’s almost sacred as your oath to the military. I won’t have it said that Reds don’t keep their promises!” He paused. His grip loosened and dropped to his sides as he added in a low grumble, “So, Grif, don’t fuck this up.”

Grif stared at him. Despite himself, he was a little moved. Coming from Sarge, that had practically been some flag-waving, parade-marching support. When he glanced at Simmons, he wasn’t surprised to see Simmons trying and failing to surreptitiously wipe a tear from his eye.

“Thanks, Sarge,” Simmons said in a choked voice. “That means a lot.” 

“Simmons, you can’t cry. That will ruin the photo!” Donut scolded, and Simmons flinched as Donut waved a handkerchief almost threateningly at him.

Once Donut had been appeased, the group stood pressed together, shoulders bumping awkwardly, waiting for Tucker to take the pictures. Grif tried not to tense up as Sarge huffed out unhappy breaths, though he’d learned over the years not to let Sarge stand too close even with Simmons as a buffer between them.

Meanwhile, Simmons still looked emotional over Sarge’s speech, starry-eyed that his mentor had finally resigned himself to the marriage. Grif bumped him with an elbow and said, “Hey, ask Sarge to put his hand on your shoulder again. We can send a photo to your dad and tell him to suck it.”

Simmons was still sputtering when Tucker popped up from behind the camera and said cheerfully, “All right, assholes, count to five and say cheese!”

“Oh, Tucker, not when Simmons is blushing like that. He clashes with his suit!” Donut said reproachfully even as he pressed himself to Grif’s side, his hand dangerously close to Grif’s ass. “Don’t you have any sense of aesthetic?”

Tucker grinned and shrugged. “What can I say, I’m a breast man, not an ass man.” When no one laughed, he frowned. “Come on, that was a fucking good pun. Aesthetic sounds like ass--”

“No, we got it. It was just lame,” Grif said.

Tucker flipped him off.

Simmons got his face under control. “Let’s just take the picture.”

The next few minutes involved a bunch of clicking sounds from the camera and multiple instances of Donut’s hand “accidentally” landing on someone’s ass, but when Tucker said, “Okay, last one because I’m tired of looking at your faces,” Sarge heaved a deep sigh and put his hand on Simmons’ shoulder.

Simmons’ face was priceless. Grif was definitely going to have to get that photo from Donut.

Donut bounded back to the camera, shooing Tucker away. He inspected the photographs, and nodded to himself. “Great! Now, we’ll get a few photos of the grooms, and then Tucker and Junior, and we’ll be done.”

Grif snorted. “Uh, I’m not sticking around for that.” He caught Simmons’ expression from the corner of his eye and hastily elaborated. “For Tucker and Junior to do their father-son thing. My appetizers are probably getting cold.”

“Hey, fuck you.” Tucker spoke without heat. “Junior and I are gonna look amazing. I might use the photos for our holiday card this year!”

“Blargh,” said Junior, which Grif suspected was ‘save me’ or ‘hell no’ in Sangheili.

“Now, you two,” said Donut, beaming and ignoring Tucker entirely, “remember that these are your wedding photos, so forget all about your audience. Let’s get up close and personal! Like the kiss I interrupted.”

“Fuck yeah,” Kai said. She put her hands around her mouth and hollered, “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

“Did your libido just go into permanent hibernation too?” Grif muttered to Simmons, who bit his lip like he was trying not to laugh and hissed, “Be serious, Grif. I want these photos to be meaningful.”

Of course he did. He probably even wanted to get them framed and put them in their room. Grif ignored the way his stomach did another little flip at the thought. “Sap.” Grif pointed at Kai. He had to shout to be heard, because she was still chanting for them to make out. “Kai, don’t you have some hot girls to call dibs on while Tucker’s busy being paternal and shit?”

“Wait, no,” Tucker said, his face falling even as Kai’s brightened and she said, “Oh yeah. Bye!” Tucker watched her run in the direction of the pavilion and then turned a pissed-off look upon Grif. “Goddamnit, Grif. What did I ever do to you?”

“Uh, besides spending years trying to kill me? Nothing much.”

Tucker glared, but apparently couldn’t argue with that.

Grif was distracted from his victory by Simmons sliding an arm around his waist. He looked over, startled. Simmons smiled at him. There was no threat of tears or blushing this time; his look was soft with affection. Grif’s chest squeezed uncomfortably. He was vaguely aware of the click of the camera as Donut took a photo. He let his gaze trace Simmons’ face. He was pretty sure the sun had brought out one or two new freckles, though if he pointed that out, Simmons would only get huffy and deny it. His eyes caught and lingered on Simmons’ mouth, the lower lip showing a faint indentation of teeth from when Simmons had fought back a laugh.

Again Grif was tempted to forget about the party and just sneak off with Simmons to his freshly clean room. Simmons would appreciate the lack of crumbs in bed, and maybe even the full-length mirror, if Grif played his cards right. Too bad Simmons would gripe about being rude to their guests if he suggested it.

“Okay, let’s do it. But I put my foot down about French kissing. Donut would enjoy watching that too much.”

The corners of Simmons’ eyes crinkled. “Shut up,” he said fondly, and kissed him. The kiss was just the lightest touch of lips. It was probably perfect for Donut’s photo, but it felt like a fucking cock-tease. Grif fixed that by biting at Simmons’ lip, replacing the faint bite marks with his own. Simmons made a surprised sound low in his throat, his arm tightening around Grif, and kissed him back.

Grif sort of forgot about their audience for a minute until Tucker laughed and said, “Dudes, Junior is a teenager, so try to keep it PG-13. Or do I need to get the hose?”

Grif drew back a little, breathing hard. He’d apparently taken offense to Simmons’ tie again; it was nowhere to be found. Instead his hand cupped Simmons’ neck, his thumb resting against the pulse-point he’d seen beating frantically during the ceremony. Simmons blinked at him, looking dazed. Grif felt a little dazed himself. His mouth ran on automatic. “Hey, Tucker, how many times did you say that to your mom as a kid?”

“Oh, fuck off!” Tucker said.  

Grif ignored him. He stroked his thumb over Simmons’ skin, and was close enough to hear and feel the hitch in Simmons’ breathing as Simmons shuddered. He sensed an opportunity. He grinned and lowered his voice. “We _could_ ditch the party.”

For a second, Simmons actually looked tempted. Then he sighed. “Donut would murder us. Like, seriously, you didn’t see him when he thought you’d run away. He will legitimately kill us and probably skin our bodies to use in his interior decorating.”

“He wouldn’t do that,” Grif objected, earning a skeptical look. “The skinning our bodies thing, I mean. Have you seen The Texas Chainsaw Massacre? There’s no way to make that shit look good. But yeah, he’d totally murder us.”

“Besides, if we skip the dinner and the party, we’ll miss the wedding toasts.” Simmons, of course, sounded much more worried about that possibility. He looked around, frowning. “Where did you put my tie? And seriously, what do you have against ties?” 

Grif shrugged. “They’re like small nooses. I don't like tempting Sarge like that. It's waving a red flag in front of a bull. Besides, you don’t need it.” He gave one last stroke of his thumb down Simmons’ neck, tracing his collarbone until it disappeared under his shirt, and savored making Simmons shiver again. “Now come on, let’s go. I haven’t had anything since that whiskey and Oreos with Tucker, and I’m starving.”

“YOU ATE WHAT? WHEN?” Donut shrieked. He stared at Grif, his expression past outrage, and even past the creepy serial killer calm. If looks could kill, Grif would’ve had been dead in twenty different horrible ways in that moment.

Simmons laughed unconvincingly. “He was just joking, Donut! Ha, ha, that Grif, such a kidder. Of course he didn’t eat anything after you specifically told him not to. Besides, he’s a slob. If he ate anything you would have seen some stain on his suit, right? And there are no stains! So no Oreos or whiskey for him!”

“Quit while you're ahead,” Grif hissed under his breath. He threw in a fake laugh of his own, and added, “Yeah, just a joke, Donut. Look, Tucker and Junior are ready for their photos! Simmons and I are going to the party. I can’t wait to try some of those appetizers. How did you get poke in this quadrant? You worked so hard for our wedding! Great job!” He grabbed Simmons’ hand and didn’t wait around for a response, retreating towards the pavilion.

“Good going,” Simmons said when they were out of earshot. “Like I want to be widowed on the same day I get married. How about we never mention that whiskey and Oreos again?”

Grif grinned. “I’ll try to keep myself alive, if just for the wedding night.”

Simmons flushed. He slowed a little, and it took Grif a second to realize that he was staring at Grif’s mouth. Simmons swallowed. When he spoke, his voice was unexpectedly rough. “You’d better. I have plans.”

Grif squinted at him, but Simmons didn’t say anything else, turning towards the pavilion and walking a little faster, tugging Grif behind him. “What plans? Dick Simmons, did you plan something for tonight? Am I gonna be seduced? Are there gonna be rose petals and shit on our bed?”

The back of Simmons’ neck reddened, but he didn’t look back. He even sounded a little self-satisfied when he said, “You’ll just have to wait and see.”

The smugness should have been obnoxious instead of hot, and definitely shouldn't have made Grif want to shove Simmons against the nearest boulder and make out with him. He tried to distract himself by being annoying. “No, I bet I can guess. I just have to list the cheesiest romantic shit I can think of. Eventually I'll figure it out. Okay, I already mentioned the rose petals. Strawberries and wine, I guess. Oh, oh, I got it! Did you get some lingerie? I’m not really into that kind of role-play, but I guess I can make an exception for our wedding night. Or are you going to carry me over the threshold? I figured I was going to carry you if you whined about it, but I guess if I'm the one wearing white, I can take one for the team--”

Simmons had managed to keep quiet through most of Grif’s bullshit, but apparently he’d reached his limit, because he barked out a laugh and wheeled to face Grif. “Carry you over the threshold?! Maybe if you’d lost some weight for the wedding like Donut suggested, but even my cyborg strength can't handle your fat ass.”

“Donut didn't _suggest_ anything. Don’t think I didn’t notice his attempt to secretly switch all my regular food with fat-free and sugar-free alternatives until I put a stop to that shit.” Grif shuddered, momentarily unnerved by those dark memories. That had been a terrible two days. “But I notice you’re being suspiciously silent about the lingerie. Is that something that gets you off?" He shook his head as Simmons sputtered incoherently, then put on a mock-thoughtful face. "I guess you really _don’t_ know someone until you’re married.”

“You’re such an idiot,” Simmons said.

“Hey, who's the bigger idiot? The idiot, or the guy who married him?” Grif watched a sappy smile spread across Simmons’ face, followed by a now-familiar look. When he tugged on Grif’s hand, Grif met him halfway for another kiss.

In the end, they were a little late for the dinner and party after all.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This](https://i.pinimg.com/736x/fa/85/bd/fa85bd9a95783e20e65a7e3e201481fc--red-vest-black-vest.jpg) is what I imagined for Simmons' suit.
> 
> The wedding vow Simmons was _trying_ to say before Grif interrupted him were: "______, I take you as my husband, with your faults and your strengths, as I offer myself to you with my faults and my strengths. I will help you when you need help, and turn to you when I need help. I choose you as the person with whom I will spend my life."


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party and wedding night: Toasts are vetoed, Grif has a religious epiphany over cake, Kai gets the party started, Simmons put his plans into motion, and Grif and Simmons receive an unexpected gift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What are reasonable chapter lengths? We just don't know. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy the final chapter of my wedding shenanigans fic as much I enjoyed writing it. :D I love this whole ensemble cast, and it was fun to get to write about this huge cast of characters. 
> 
> A shout-out to Swine, whose comment about Grif's potential reaction to his wedding cake inspired a little moment in the fic. And to the RvB nonnies on FFA, who got me into the fandom and encouraged all these wedding shenanigans.

Grif wasn’t sure who started it. One second he was peacefully eating a second helping  of kulolo and wondering if he could have a third before the wedding cake, utterly unaware of his impending doom. The next everyone was chanting, “Toast! Toast!” and raising their champagne flutes towards Simmons and Grif’s table.

“Oh, fuck no,” he said.

“Oh, fuck yes!” said Kai, and shot to her feet. The smile on her face was the stuff of Grif’s nightmares.  

Just as quickly as she’d stood, Grif leaned across to the Blue table and pushed her back down. She landed in her chair with a startled grunt and glared at him. “Nope. That’s not happening. As the groom, I’m using my veto. No fucking toasts.” He ignored a chorus of groans and disappointed sounds from the other tables, and what sounded like actual booing from Tucker.

“Hey, don’t I have groom privileges too?” Simmons objected. When Grif looked at him, he was smiling. “Kai promised me some embarrassing stories about when you two were kids.”

Grif scowled. “For her wedding toast? No thanks.”

Tucker interrupted them with a loud groan. “Who cares about that? I want her to tell the story about that ping-pong player!”

“Ping-pong is a fun game! I didn’t know you liked it too, Tucker,” Caboose said. His smile was wide and completely sincere. “Do you want to play sometime? I bet Lopez could build us a table!”

“Ooh, that sounds fun,” chirped Jensen from her seat. She sounded strange; it took Grif a second to realize that she wasn’t lisping. At some point she’d finally gotten her braces off. “Maybe we could set up some table tennis tournaments back on Chorus, madam president.”

There was a beat of silence after this exchange. Kimball’s face was expressionless, which Grif suspected meant a polite fuck no. Meanwhile Tucker slumped in his chair and mumbled, “Never mind. Fucking ruined.”

Grif waved a hand around the pavilion. “Simmons, look at these people. They’re our friends and stuff, but...come on. Do you think any of them can make a toast that doesn’t make us both look like assholes?”

Tucker snorted. “Uh, did you hear yourself during your speech, Grif?”

Grif gave him the finger without breaking eye contact with Simmons.

Doubt crept into Simmons’ face. “Well….”

Grif leaned closer. “Tucker would just spend five minutes crowing about how he fucking knew we were meant to be or whatever. Kai’s would derail into some sex story that nobody, and I mean  _nobody_ , needs to hear. I know you probably imagined Sarge giving some great toast, but I think that little speech he gave during the photo shoot is the closest we’re gonna get. Let’s not press our luck. Caboose….” Here, Grif paused. His brain struggled for a moment before admitting defeat. “Actually, I have no idea what kind of speech Caboose would give. Man, I’m almost curious.”

“GRIF! YOU WANT ME TO MAKE A SPEECH?!”  

Grif practically levitated in his seat at Caboose’s excited shout. “Uh,” he said, trying to figure out a way to say no without hurting Caboose’s feelings. Caboose bounced upright, waving his champagne flute so wildly that both Tucker and and Kai had to duck to avoid potential head injuries. “Look, Caboose….” His voice trailed off, because it was impossible to refuse without feeling like he'd kicked a puppy. He exchanged a helpless look with Simmons, who shrugged. Grif gave in with a slow, creeping sense of doom. “Uh, go ahead, I guess.”

Caboose beamed. “I am so good at speeches, you guys!” He scrunched up his face and hummed thoughtfully to himself, nodding slowly. “Okay. Okay. So a speech. A speech about you two. Because you’re married now.” He went back to humming, tapping his champagne flute against his forehead.

“Donut, you better get this shit on video,” Tucker muttered.

“RIGHT!” Caboose shouted. This time Grif definitely wasn’t the only one who jumped. Caboose walked over to stand in front of Simmons and Grif’s table. He stared at them intently. “Grif and Simmons! When I first met you both, I thought your names were Simon and Griff with two Fs. I was confused about a lot of stuff back then. What I wasn’t confused about was how you were very unhappy and angry people. And mean sometimes!”

Simmons flushed and frowned, but before he could object, Caboose barreled on.

“But somewhere along the way you two became friends. And that was good.” Caboose was quiet for a moment. His expression went distant, not in the way it did when he’d lost his train of thought or started to daydream, but with the quiet, faraway look he got whenever he thought about Church. “When you have a friend, things can be terrible, but never at their worst. You can make awful mistakes, you can have awful fights, you can lose people, which is _awful_ , but as long as you still have a friend at the end, you’ll be okay.”

The distant look left, and he smiled sweetly at them both. “And that’s why I’m happy for you two. You married your _best friend_. That is the greatest idea ever!” He waved his champagne, oblivious as most of its contents spilled onto his sleeve. “To Grif and Simmons!”

Voices echoed him. “To Grif and Simmons!”

“Thanks, Caboose,” Simmons said, his voice wobbly. “That, uh, was a really good speech.” Grif didn’t have to look at him to know he was struggling with his emotions. Not that he actually looked to be sure, because Grif had something in his eyes and needed to blink a few times before anyone got the mistaken impression that Caboose had gotten to him too.

Simmons stood, his champagne flute in his cyborg hand, his other hand resting on Grif’s shoulder. When Simmons raised his drink, the champagne caught the candlelight and the last fading sunlight.

“While I’m saying thank you to Caboose, I want to thank everyone who came to the wedding. I know some of you had pretty far to travel.” Simmons nodded towards the tables where the lieutenants, Grey, and Kimball sat. “Grif and I really appreciate it. And thank you for the gifts! We wanted to focus on celebrating with all of you, so we’re not opening them tonight, but expect thank-you letters in a few weeks. And of course we want to thank Donut, who put the entire wedding together.”

Grif added, “Yeah. Without Donut, we would've sent out just-married postcards from the Vegas Quadrant about where to send the presents.” A few people laughed, but Grif had been half-serious. He waved a hand at the orchids that decorated the tables and filled the air with a spicy scent. “Also, I think he made a deal with the devil to get all these flowers here. Plumeria and orchids! What the fuck, Donut?”

“If I did, that’s my business,” Donut said, giggling merrily while Grif squinted at him. “But you’re welcome. I’ll admit that planning the wedding wasn’t completely altruistic. Getting everything perfect for you guys really got me going!” He bowed with a flourish amid some awkward clapping. When he straightened, he was smiling from ear to ear. “Now, if everyone’s ready, I think it’s time to bring out my crowning glory. I know tradition suggests that you wait until the end of the night for the cake, but I think we all deserve to indulge.”

Grif straightened in his seat. He exchanged another look with Simmons. Donut had kept the both of them in the dark about the cake, taunting them with vague promises that it would rock their world. All Grif knew was the flavor, since that was one thing he’d argued into a compromise. “Great idea.”

This must be what it was like to have a religious experience, Grif thought a minute later as Donut wheeled in the cake. He was looking at something holy. He stared at the enormous reddish-gold four-tiered cake, which was designed to resemble the cliffs of Blood Gulch.

Each tier had an outcropping that played out familiar scenes. The bottom tier showed two figures, one maroon, one orange, situated in the middle of a bridge. The maroon figure was huddled in a crouch, but that was going a little overboard. Grif had already recognized their first meeting in Basic. He wondered how Donut had pried that story out of Simmons, but then he was distracted by the next scene. That one had another set of Grif and Simmons, these two seated in a miniature Warthog. Looking closer, Grif realized second-tier Simmons was holding a rocket launcher.  

The third tier had white glitter dusting the gold, blanketing the edge of the cake like snow. There cake-Grif dangled, this Simmons clutching onto him. For a second Grif could almost feel the freezing air circulating through his armor, too cold even for his life-support system to fully compensate; the desperate clutch of Simmons’ hand; the terrible weightlessness in that split second after he’d lost his grip and started to fall.

Simmons’ hand tightened on his shoulder, grounding him. He breathed in the warm air and the scent of orchids. It still took some effort to look at the last tier. This time the tiny Simmons and Grif were dressed in their wedding suits, the tiniest flicker of gold catching the candlelight from the small matching rings painted onto their clasped hands.

“Wow,” Simmons said.

The awe in the whisper shook Grif from his spell. “Holy shit,” he said, and didn’t care if his voice sounded raspy. He leaned forward, getting a better look at the delicate detail of the armor. “That is a goddamn piece of art. Look at the fucking thing. I don’t even want to eat it. Wait, what am I saying? Simmons, did Donut break me? He made food too beautiful to eat. What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?”

“Of course you get more emotional over the cake than our actual wedding vows,” Simmons muttered, though there wasn’t any bite to his words. He tapped Grif’s forehead. “Hey, dummy. Think about how much worse it would be to let that cake spoil. It’d be like throwing paint on the Mona Lisa. It’s a crime not to eat this cake.”

Grif looked at the cake again, imagining it falling into moldy pieces without anyone discovering if it tasted as good as it looked. That really would be sacrilege. He nodded. “Okay, yeah. That makes sense. Still, fuck me. How is that thing even real?”

“Yeah. I’m beginning to think your joke that Donut sold his soul to the demon of wedding planning wasn’t an exaggeration.”

“Who said I was joking? But now I’ve got to ask. Is there actually a demon of wedding planning?”

Simmons shrugged. “How should I know? I’m an atheist, remember? But if there is one, there’s like a ninety-nine percent chance he now has Donut’s soul.”

They both startled when Donut stepped forward, brandishing a knife, though only Simmons squeaked. “Okay,” Donut said with a smile. He glanced between them. “Who wants to cut the first slice? Or are you cutting it together? If you two want to cut it together, let me go grab my camera! It'd be adorable.”

“I can do it,” Grif said quickly. He probably couldn’t get away with taking half of the top tier for himself, but he had to try. He reached for the knife, but Simmons got there first.

“Actually, I think I should,” Simmons said. He ignored Grif’s frown as he cut out a piece that might’ve been decent sized for a baby. Beneath the golden shell was a dark chocolate cake, the white and black frosting that separated each thick layer looking like it would taste exactly like Oreos. That was some consolation for how small the piece was. Well, that and the thought that the first slice might be for Simmons.

Grif cleared his throat. “That’s your slice, right?”

Simmons rolled his eyes but cut a second, larger piece. It still wasn’t big enough in Grif’s opinion, though he could probably get another slice later. Simmons passed the knife back to Donut, who began cutting pieces for everyone else. Simmons slid the second plate over to him. “Grif, how much of that cake did you hope to eat?”  

“Uh, more than that first lame slice,” Grif said, already reaching for his fork. There was no way he could be expected to wait for everyone else to get their slices. “Want to see if it tastes as good as it looks?”

Simmons looked indecisive for about five seconds. Then he grabbed his fork. “On three?”

They both took their first bites in silence.

Simmons set his fork down and stared at his cake. “So….”

“He definitely sold his soul,” Grif said cheerfully. The cake was perfect, with just the right balance of cake and frosting. It tasted like Oreos without being too sweet. He licked some lingering frosting off the fork’s points, and then got distracted by the way Simmons watched him. “We could steal the top tier and make a break for it,” he suggested, seizing the opportunity. Then he yelped as Donut reappeared at his shoulder, still holding the knife. He set his fork down slowly and said, “Uh, just kidding. Obviously we’re going to leave the party at the traditional time.”

“Obviously,” Donut agreed. Then his gaze sharpened. “So you like the cake?” There was an expectant look on his face, as though he hoped that they’d wax poetic over the cake or some shit like that.

Grif was happy to oblige. “Uh, fuck yes we did. I, for one, had a religious epiphany.”

“You made him cry,” Simmons said, and grinned when Grif kicked him under the table.

Donut beamed. “Oh, good! I admit, it was a little difficult to decide which event to choose for each tier. I almost went with your surgery, since that was a whole new level of intimacy for you two! But I worried that might be too macabre for a wedding cake, so I chose one of your many joy rides in the Warthog.”

“Uh…. Yeah, right decision,” Simmons said weakly. Judging by the slow blanching of his face, he was envisioning the surgery tier and rapidly losing his appetite.

Grif was made of hardier stuff. He took a huge bite of his cake and said around the mouthful, “Yeah, it was awesome. If we ever decide to stop saving the universe or whatever, you should start a wedding planning company.”

“You really think so?” Donut said. He looked thoughtful. “I always leaned more towards interior decorating….”

Grif waited until Donut was gone. Then he leaned closer to Simmons, who still looked pale and distracted by visions of a cake tier with delicately created intestines spilled out on golden sand. Time for a distraction. He inched his fork towards Simmons’ plate. “If you’re not going to finish that, I’ll take it.”

Simmons’ arm came down like a barricade. “You haven’t even finished your first slice!” he protested. He laughed a little, though, and exasperation flushed his face from sickly white to his regular freckled and pasty pale.

Grif figured that meant mission accomplished. He ate the rest of his cake, and a second slice, with satisfaction.

 

* * *

 

Neither Grif nor Simmons had been keen on embarrassing themselves with their dance moves in front of an audience, so Kai had volunteered to lead the first dance and get people onto the dance floor. Watching her drag Tucker to the middle of the pavilion, her hands sliding down Tucker’s back and onto his ass, Grif closed his eyes and muttered, “I really should’ve seen that coming. Tell me when it’s over.”

“She’s keeping her clothes on,” Simmons said, patting his shoulder reassuringly. “I’m going to go around and say hello to people. Donut kept me locked up in my room until the ceremony, and unlike a certain someone I didn’t go on a whiskey and Oreos run. I haven’t even had a chance to greet President Kimball.”

The dinner and cake were catching up with Grif. He wanted to take a nap. Or at least not do something boring like greet people, even if he actually liked most of them. He glanced around and spotted Carolina and Wash hiding in a corner. A fool-proof means of procrastination. “Sounds good, but I feel obligated to warn my padawan that my sister thinks she’s hot and will probably drag her onto the dance floor at some point.”

“Really?” Simmons sounded a little intrigued by the thought, and held up his hands as Grif stared at him. “Just saying, she thought Tex was hot too. I guess she just likes terrifying women. I sort of get it. What does she think of Dr. Grey?”

Grif grimaced. “My sister’s potential hookups aren’t high on my list of discussion topics, Simmons. How about you go say hello to Kimball, I’ll warn Carolina, and we both pretend we didn’t have this conversation?”

“Fine,” Simmons said, wearing a crooked smile. He was probably glad to find something that would wind Grif up. “But you have to greet people too.” He took about five steps before he disappeared into a group hug from his squad of lieutenants, who congratulated him in loud, bubbly voices, all talking over each other.

Grif abandoned him to their clutches, and dropped onto the chair next to Carolina. He pretended to study her dress before he drawled, “Disappoint me, you do, padawan. I bet Simmons that Donut wouldn’t get you into a dress.”

“Oh, was I supposed to wear my armor? I could go change.” Carolina sounded perfectly serious. Only the glint in her eyes hinted at the joke.

That, and the slight smile that touched her mouth when Grif said, “You might need it. I’m pretty sure my sister has you in her sights after she’s done with Tucker. Well, you or Kimball. I don’t think she knows how to handle so many hot bitches around. Her words, not mine.”

“You don’t think Carolina’s hot?” This came from Wash, amusement softening the rough edge of his still-recovering voice. He tilted his head towards Carolina, smiling. “Hey, Carolina, I think Grif is implying that you’re ugly.”

“Don’t start shit,” Grif said, pointing at him and earning a hoarse laugh. “And I’m a married man now. I plead the fifth.”

“That was some wedding ceremony.” Carolina could’ve been teasing him still, or completely serious.

He decided to go with the second. He leaned back in his chair, nodding. “It was, wasn’t it? I gotta say, though, I thought Sarge was going to have an aneurysm there for a minute. Still a little disappointed he didn’t.”

“The night’s still young,” Wash said, and nodded past Grif. When he turned he found Donut trying to coax Sarge onto the dance floor. Sarge’s face was an amazing shade of red. Grif deeply regretted that he didn’t have a camera on him.

“Heeeeeeeeeeey, big bro.”

A heavy body landed hard in his lap, and he grunted in surprise as Kai wrapped her arms around his shoulders and kissed his cheek. He wondered if she’d taken something, or if she was just drunk. Her face shone with sweat, but that could’ve been from dancing. Was her smile just a little too wide? It was hard to tell. Either way she was sprawled in his lap, grinning at him. “I meant to ask. Are you Dexter Simmons now? Or is he Dick Grif? Because--” She dropped her voice to what she probably thought was a whisper but was still a shout. “Bro, bro, those options both _really suck_.”

“Get off, dumbass,” Grif said, and then shoved her out of his lap when she just laughed. She flopped gracelessly half in Carolina’s instead, whining under her breath as she struggled to brace herself and not fall on her ass. “We’re keeping our names. Did you take something?”

“Hey, hottie,” Kai said, ignoring him in favor of smiling brightly at Carolina. “We should totally dance!” Then she turned and squinted at Wash. A thoughtful look attempted to form on her face and didn’t quite get there. “Oh, hey, it’s the cop. You know, I haven’t actually made out with a cop before. Firefighters, lawyers, doctors, security mall wannabe cops, sure, but no real cops.” She leaned towards him, and Wash leaned away. “You’re actually cute for a pig….”

Carolina steadied her when she started to fall over. Carolina tilted her head towards Grif, her amusement now obvious. He was glad somebody found the situation funny. “What do you want me to do with her?”

“Dump her in the nearest river,” Grif muttered. He grabbed Kai’s chin and made her look at him. She rolled her eyes, making it impossible to tell if they were dilated. “Seriously, Kai, did you take anything I should know about?”

She made a face. “You’re so lame. No, I didn’t take anything. You said not to, and it’s your wedding.” Grif was almost touched that she’d listened, until she added, “But Tucker smuggled in vodka and we were doing shots all dinner instead of that weak-ass champagne.”  

Grif sighed and let her go. “Of course you were.”

She wiggled off Carolina’s lap and turned, swaying a little in place as she put her hands on her hips and smiled suggestively at both ex-Freelancers. “Well? Either of you wanna dance?”

“Why not?” Carolina said unexpectedly. Both Wash and Grif gawked at her as she smiled. “It might be fun.”

Grif stared harder, wondering if someone had spiked his champagne. “Carolina, if you sleep with my sister, I’ll go Dark Side on your ass. Padawan or not.”

Carolina raised an eyebrow. “First you call me ugly, and then you imply you don’t want me as your sister-in-law.” As Grif made horrified sounds at the thought, she shook her head. “You’re going to hurt my feelings, Grif.” While he was still sputtering, she stood and followed Kai onto the dance floor.

Again Grif closed his eyes. “Tell me when it’s over,” he moaned. “Is every single one of my friends going to see my sister naked?”

“I think Carolina just agreed to a dance, not a one-night stand,” Wash said, sounding amused at Grif’s terrible, horrible, no good, very bad wedding party. “But if it helps, _I_ still haven’t seen her naked.”

“Oh good,” Grif said sourly. “Kai wasn’t sure about that. I can sleep easy now.”

There was a beat of silence, and then Wash said, “You know, for a while I thought you and Simmons were already married.”

Grif turned.

Wash sat relaxed in his chair, his head tilted slightly upwards, his eyes half-closed. He was cradling a champagne flute loosely in his hand. Without Carolina between them, Grif could see where Wash’s collar didn’t quite hide the scars from Desert Gulch.

“Uh, run that by me again? You thought Simmons and I were _already_ married?”

Wash smiled faintly. “Tucker,” he said, as though that explained everything. Honestly, it did.

“So how long did it take for you to figure out he was fucking with you?”

“I plead the fifth,” Wash said, and Grif laughed.

“That asshole. Happens to the best of us, man. There was one time, he--”

A sudden cheer made them both look out at the dance floor, where Donut had abandoned Sarge and now was helping Doc out of an impressive split. Huh, he hadn’t realized Simmons had invited Doc.

“Goodness, Doc, I forgot you were so flexible!” drifted to Grif’s ears.

He shuddered, then caught sight of Simmons, talking earnestly to Matthews. Jesus. What was _that_ conversation like? Simmons glanced at him. Even with the distance, Grif could see his frown. With a sigh, he waved at Simmons and stood. “Well, if I don’t start talking to other people, I can probably kiss a fun wedding night good-bye. When Carolina comes back, tell her I meant the whole Dark Side thing.”

“I will. And Grif?”

Surprised by the change in Wash’s voice, Grif paused and looked back.

Wash smiled. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks, man.” Grif hesitated, feeling like Simmons would’ve said something sappy in response. He tried not to let his eyes linger on Wash’s scars, and rubbed at his jaw. “Glad, uh, glad you were here for the wedding. Try to make it to our anniversary too, okay?”

He didn’t stick around to hear Wash’s response, since that was about his mushiness limit with a person he wasn’t married or related to. He dodged Sarge, who was either in a rush to escape the dance floor or had hoped to knock Grif’s head off his shoulders and spare Simmons the wedding night. Decapitation avoided, he glanced around, trying to figure out who he could talk to who wouldn’t want to have an actual conversation. He spied a welcome figure still seated at one of the tables.

He wandered over. “Hey, Lopez. Nobody asked you to dance? Well, the party’s just getting started. I’m sure you won’t be a wallflower all night.”

“Solo estoy aquí porque el rosado me asesinará si me voy temprano. Solo déjame sentarme aquí en paz.” _I am only here because the pink one will murder me if I leave early. Just let me sit here in peace._

Grif grinned at him. “Sure. Just wanted to say thanks for the music.”

Lopez stared.

When it became obvious he wasn’t going to say anything else, Grif nodded as though Lopez had said you’re welcome. He patted Lopez’s shoulder and said, “Anyway, I thought it was great, even if Simmons is probably going to whine at you.”

He glanced around, looking for someone else who wouldn’t want to have a whole heart-to-heart. His eyes fell on a likely suspect.

“Bitters! Hey, man.”  

 

* * *

 

The guest list wasn’t that big: Kai, Carolina, Wash, the other Reds, the Blues, a handful of people from Chorus, and Doc. It still seemed to take forever to talk to everyone. He should’ve just done it with Simmons. He could see Simmons across the floor, talking to Jensen and probably sermonizing on the wonder that was retainers.

Grif’s throat was dry. The last time he’d talked this much had been ages ago. Probably that long awkward trip with Locus. He snagged an abandoned flute and downed the champagne in one swallow. A second later he wheezed and slapped his chest.

“Oh dear,” Doc said, chuckling sympathetically. “Did it go down the wrong tube?”

“No,” Grif croaked. His eyes watered from the unexpected burn in his throat. “Just wasn’t expecting vodka.” He glanced around.

The party was still in full swing, though apparently everyone was ignoring the actual music.

Tucker had convinced one of Simmons’ lieutenants to dance, and seemed to be in the middle of teaching her and Junior the moves to Thriller, while Kimball and Grey danced slowly in the furthest corner of the pavilion.

Caboose had found a top hat from who knows fuck where. He and Donut were dancing a classic almost as old as Thriller: the Macarena. Every time they turned to the right, they exchanged the hat and jammed it into their head, laughing together. It would have been entertaining to watch, if Donut hadn’t simultaneously lost his shirt and acquired glitter.

Carolina was back in the corner with Wash, her feet up in a chair. They were both watching the dance floor. Occasionally Carolina leaned over and said something to Wash that made him grin. A plumeria blossom shone pale against her hair.  

Jensen had finished her conversation with Simmons and was dancing with Palomo, who stared at her dreamy-eyed and tripped over his own feet every other step. The other lieutenants seemed to be taking a break and were clustered in a tight group, drinking champagne and laughing among themselves. 

Sarge…. Sarge had ended up on the dance floor again. He looked hunted as Kai danced around him, gyrating wildly and occasionally bumping hips with him, like a cornered animal who wasn’t sure whether to fight or flee.

Yeah, that shit needed to stop right now.

“Hey, sis,” Grif said, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and leaning against her so that she had to stop dancing up on Sarge or fall over. He tried to think of a scapegoat he could throw at her without any guilt or self-inflicted horror. He glanced around, and spied two sacrifices. “Didn’t you want to make out with a cop? Andersmith and Matthews are both cops on Chorus.”

Kai brightened. “Really? Which ones are they? Are they hot?” He had pointed for all of five seconds before she shook him off and said, “Eh, I’ll take cute too. Thanks, Dex!” She threw her arms around his neck and gave him a half-choke hold, half-hug. “Congrats again.” Then she sauntered in the unsuspecting men’s direction.

Grif glanced at Sarge. A closer look showed that Sarge looked torn between relief and disappointment. Grif wasn’t touching that with a twenty-foot pole. Plus, he wanted to remain in state of blissful ignorance on who his sister was going to sleep with tonight. If he stuck around, he was certain to see things he couldn't unsee. It was time to grab Simmons and go.

Before he could move, Sarge stepped in front of him.

Grif froze. Did Sarge have one last assassination attempt up his sleeve? He stared over Sarge’s shoulder, trying to send a mental S.O.S. towards Simmons. It didn’t work; Simmons picked up a glass of champagne, oblivious to Grif’s plight.

“Look,” Sarge said, drawing Grif’s attention back to him, and then stopped. His brow furrowed in a scowl. “I’m not saying I’m happy about this union, because I ain’t, but I meant what I said. You two made an oath to each other--”

Grif sighed. He’d almost managed to escape the party without Sarge threatening bodily harm. He should’ve known that would never happen. “And so I shouldn’t fuck it up. Yeah, Sarge, I got it the first time.”

“Good! But make sure Simmons doesn’t fuck it up either.”

Grif squinted at him, and then at the champagne flute in his hand. Had there been something besides vodka in that champagne? He waited a second, but Sarge just glowered at him. He finally ventured a cautious, “Uh, what?”

“Simmons has grown into a fine man, but he’s still got a few screws loose, if I'm being honest. Overthinks everything! Don’t let him worry about what other folks think a marriage looks like to be successful, or that you might have too much of a good thing.” Something flickered across Sarge’s face, like he just realized he might've accidentally complimented Grif. He added hastily, “Not that I’m saying your marriage is a good thing! It’s an abomination. Still don’t know why the Lord didn’t see fit to strike you down. Though I do take some solace in the fact that none of those filthy Blues are married or even dating anyone. One point for the Reds, even if it comes at a terrible price.”

“Uh,” Grif said.

“Awww,” cooed Doc behind them, who apparently had nothing better to do than eavesdrop on possibly hallucinated conversations. “That was really sweet, Sarge!”

Sarge glared at Doc. “Mind your own business, you lily-livered pacifist!” He shook his head and muttered, “I need to find some better alcohol. That champagne ain’t enough.”

“Tucker can probably help you with that,” Grif said, still unsure what the fuck had just happened. He beat a hasty retreat as Sarge sputtered about it being a cold day in hell when he asked that damn Blue for anything.

Grif made it safely to Simmons' side. “So,” he said without preamble, snatching the champagne out of Simmons' hand and swallowing it in one quick gulp. “I’ve said hello to everyone and saved Carolina _and_ Sarge from Kai, which I don’t want to think about ever again, so can we please go? I promise Donut is too busy with the Macarena to notice if we leave early.”

Simmons blinked. He looked less enthusiastic about ditching the party than Grif had hoped. In fact, he looked alarmed by the prospect. “Oh. Um. Give me a minute?” Then he plunged into the crowd on the dance floor.

Grif watched in bewilderment as Simmons grabbed Donut’s arm and muttered something in his ear, only for Donut to roll his eyes and shoo him away.

“Uh, what was that?” Grif asked when Simmons returned. “Last I checked, saying let’s sneak out wasn’t code for go to Donut and tell him we’re leaving.”

Simmons looked shifty. His voice had that slight squeak it did when he was failing horribly at a lie. “I just-- You already disappeared once on him today. Did you really want to risk your life a second time?”

Grif shrugged. “Uh, yes. Leaving early won’t be mistaken for Runaway Bride shit. He’ll just think it’s a sex thing.”

“Oh, I get it!” Doc said as Simmons flushed. Grif squinted at Doc. Was he following him around? That was a little weird. Doc clasped his hands together and beamed at them. “Is this about your secret plan, Simmons? Donut told me all about it, and I think it’s the sweetest thing--”

Simmons blanched and hissed frantically, “Sekreta plano! Ni ne ruinigu la sekretan planon, Doc!”

Doc’s expression went puzzled, and then concerned. "Simmons, are you all right? You're not making any sense. Grif, does Simmons’ family have a history of strokes?"

Grif grinned. “Don’t worry, Doc. Simmons just forgot no one speaks his dumb extinct language. Want to try that again? Maybe Doc knows Pig Latin.”

Enlightened, Donut chuckled. “Don’t worry, Simmons. Your secret is safe with me. I just wanted to say congratulations before you two leave. Have a wonderful honeymoon!” He winked. “You should open Donut's gift tonight. I helped him pick it out. Enjoy yourselves! And remember, safe sex is the best sex!”

“Thanks,” Grif said slowly as Simmons’ face turned pink. He tried to think what Doc and Donut would choose together. Visions of flavored lube and condoms danced through his brain. That wouldn’t be the worst gift, he guessed, as long as he didn’t think about who’d given it. He waited until Doc was out of earshot, and then looked at Simmons. “I didn’t know you invited him.”

Simmons squinted at him, looking baffled. “What? No, I forgot. I thought you did!” They both watched Doc join Donut and Caboose in the Macarena dance. Simmons said slowly, “Maybe he’s Donut’s plus one?”

“Or he’s a party crasher.” Grif shrugged. “I can respect that.”              

Simmons stared at Doc for another second before he shook his head and clearly decided that Doc's presence was a mystery that didn't need solving. “Let’s go.” He sounded confident, so it was a little baffling to watch him grab a lantern and walk out of the pavilion and into the pitch-black wilderness, heading away from the bases.

Grif followed. “Uh, Simmons? The Blue base is that way.”

Simmons glanced over his shoulder. The sky was overcast, the flashlight pointed at the ground, but the red glow of his eye lit his grin. “Grif, we’re _Reds_. We don’t walk places. I had Donut leave the Warthog over there.” He pointed towards a large shadowy boulder, looking pleased with himself.

Grif was a little impressed. “Is this part of your wedding night plan? Because good first step. You know how much I hate to walk.”

Simmons wasn’t looking at him now, but he could hear the fond eye-roll in his voice when he answered. “Yes, I did take your laziness into account when making plans for tonight. You’re welcome--” He turned around the boulder and stopped so abruptly that Grif bumped into him.

Grif peered around him and grinned. The wobbling flashlight shone on the Warthog, which was covered with dozens of bells, pom-poms, ribbons and metal cans, all in bright shades of red and orange. Someone had written _Just Married_ in red marker across the hood, and then decided to get graphic. Orange and maroon penises framed the _Just Married_.

"I take it Donut added his own personal touch."

"No, Grif, I _asked_ Donut to draw penises on the Warthog," Simmons said sarcastically. “I thought it would be romantic.” He scrubbed at the art with his sleeve for a few seconds before he gave up with a frustrated groan. “Damn it, Donut!”

Grif stepped closer, trying to get a better look at Donut's art. He had to give Donut credit. They were anatomically correct. He wondered if he’d used references from an anatomy book or just drawn them from memory. “Hey, look on the bright side. At least these are just run-of-the-mill dicks. It’s not like he decided to get _really_ personal and--"  

"Shut up," Simmons grumbled, climbing into the Warthog. The flashlight swung wildly, the light catching on the tin cans, the boulder, and his sulky expression. Apparently part one of Simmons’ plan wasn’t going as hoped.    

Still grinning, Grif obeyed. He threw himself into the driver’s seat and turned on the Warthog. He always loved how the growl of the engine sounded like a puma, still proving his point after all these years that Warthog was a terrible name. He patted it fondly. “Okay, let’s start this honeymoon with style.” He stomped on the accelerator.

The Warthog jumped forward with a bone-rattling roar. The bells rang wildly, the cans clanged, and Simmons yelped as he grabbed Grif’s arm. When Grif glanced over, though, Simmons was smiling.

They were halfway across the canyon when the Warthog’s steering wheel jerked in Grif’s hands and the Warthog slowed to a stop. “What the fuck?” Grif squinted at the fuel gauge, which read halfway full. As he tapped at it, the gauge dropped to zero, the glowing lights on the console dimmed and went out, and the engine sputtered and died.

There was a beat of silence as Grif and Simmons stared at the Warthog. Grif tried to restart the engine. Nothing happened. He tried one more time. Silence. He dropped his head to the steering wheel and muttered, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“That Sarge converted this Warthog to solar power, and it’s been sitting in the shade of that boulder all day?”

Grif sighed. Trust Sarge to sabotage their wedding night even by accident. “Yeah. That.” He leaned back in his seat and put his hands behind his head, trying to find a comfortable position. “Well, I guess we’re spending our wedding night here.”

He closed his eyes as Simmons shone the flashlight at his face, apparently trying to determine if Grif was being serious. “Grif, we’re not staying out here.”

“We’re Reds, remember? We don’t walk.”

“We do if there’s no alternative!”

Grif pretended to consider that. “Nah.” He expected Simmons to fuss. Instead the flashlight turned off. He opened one eye and looked over at Simmons, who seemed to be settling into his own seat. “What, no argument? No ‘Don’t be lazy, Grif, it’s like a ten minute walk’? Nothing?” A thought occurred to him. “Was this part of your plan?”

Simmons made an exasperated sound. “No, Grif. Getting stranded in the middle of the canyon wasn’t part of my plan. But you’ll get hungry in about an hour and decide that you’re willing to walk to the Blue kitchen.”

Grif snorted. “Well, someone’s an optimist.”

“What, that I believe you’ll actually walk to Blue Base?”

“No, that it’ll take a whole hour before I’m hungry again.”

Simmons’ hand slipped into Grif’s. “Right. What was I thinking?” His thumb rubbed lightly over the ring, and Grif swallowed against a rush of affection. After a minute, Simmons sighed and said, “I wish it wasn’t so cloudy. It’s weird, but I’ve kind of missed Blood Gulch’s stars.”

Grif looked up at the sky. “Not that weird. People have always been obsessed with the stars, from Aristotle on through all the smart assholes who got us into space. Hey, remember right after our transfer here, when Sarge still thought I was the responsible one and you were useless? We went up to the roof of the base and made up our own constellations.”

“Oh yeah.” Simmons laughed. “And after a while Sarge came up, demanding to know what we were doing, and started making up his own. Who could forget the Shotgun constellation?”

“Yeah. I did convince him that a random star was Earth’s lodestar though. That was fun.” Grif raised his free hand and pointed at the sky. He mimicked Sarge’s voice. “‘Second star to the right and straight on 'til morning? What the hell kind of measurement is that, Grif? Everyone knows there’s no morning in space’!”      

Simmons laughed again. “That is the worst Sarge impression I’ve ever heard. And I’ve heard Caboose’s.”

“Wow, rude,” said Grif. “As my husband, you’re supposed to support and adore me.”

“Is that what I’m supposed to do?” Simmons said, his smile lit by the red glow of his cybernetic eye. He was still rubbing his thumb up and down Grif’s ring finger. “I don’t remember that from our vows.”

Grif rolled his eyes. “You’re never going to let me live my awful vows down, are you? We’re gonna be eighty in some retirement home back on Earth, and you’ll still be claiming you can ditch me because I forgot to mention that ‘in sickness and in health’ shit.”

Simmons’ thumb stilled against his ring. “Now who’s the optimist?”

Grif blinked. In retrospect, that had been pretty damn sappy. He cleared his throat. “Uh, you want to hear an optimist, talk to Kai. You should’ve heard her before the wedding. All this ‘you’re gonna have six kids and eight dogs and a white-picket fence’ stuff.”

“Six kids?!” Simmons sounded alarmed. “I thought one or two, maybe, but _six_?”

Even during the wedding planning, Grif hadn’t really thought too hard about the future past the actual ceremony. Trying to plan out a life usually meant that the universe would choose that moment to kick you in the balls. Now Grif tried to imagine it: the kids, the house, settling down maybe on Honolulu. He and Kai could teach Simmons and the kids how to surf. His stomach did another little flip that was either happiness or terror. It was hard to tell the difference. He licked his lips. “You’ve...thought about this.”

“Uh, yes, obviously I have thought about if I want to have kids--” Simmons stopped, closing his mouth so quickly that his teeth clicked together. His expression changed. He let go of Grif’s hand and clapped his hand over his eyes, groaning. “Oh fuck, we never had the kids discussion. Do-- do you not want kids? Shit! How did we not talk about this? We talked about how to adjust our fucking zombie apocalypse plans to survive together, but not if we want to have kids! That's a deal-breaker for most marriages, you know?”

Simmons’ voice was getting higher and higher as panic set in. Pretty soon only dogs would be able to hear him. Sarge had been right. Simmons was going to overthink everything.

Then Simmons’ cyborg arm rose, like he’d forgotten his own strength and was about to punch the side of his head and give himself a concussion for the wedding night.

Well, that wasn’t happening. Grif leaned over and grabbed Simmons’ face, forcing him to look at him. The anxious babble stopped. Both of Simmons’ arms dropped to his sides. Simmons went still, breathing hard, panicky breaths, his eyes focused on Grif. Grif tried to think of the right thing to say.

“Simmons. Maybe we didn’t have that talk, but whatever. We’ve been married like four hours. I’m sure there’s other stuff we need to talk about. I never-- look. I never really thought I’d actually get married, okay? All that talk about sometimes you have to settle was bullshit. I didn’t expect to settle. I didn’t expect to find anyone who would actually want…. Anyway, my parents made marriage look like hell on Earth, and didn't exactly make parenthood look amazing either. But fuck them. If you want kids, maybe we’ll have them someday. It’s not like we can’t be worse than our parents, right?”

“Right,” Simmons said faintly, but his breathing slowed. “They set a pretty low bar.” He closed his eyes and sighed. “Sorry.”

Grif tugged Simmons closer until their foreheads touched. He felt Simmons slowly relax. Once his breathing had steadied, Grif said, “Yeah, well. We probably should’ve talked about it. But that falls under that loving each other for our faults and virtues, right?”

Simmons was quiet for a second. Then he asked, “Do you regret not inviting your mom?”

Grif snorted. “No. She didn’t come home when I dropped out of college to take care of Kai. She didn’t even come home when I was drafted. Why would I give her another chance to let me down?” A thought occurred to him. He frowned. “Are you sorry you didn’t invite your dad?”

“Fuck no!” Simmons said, and actually laughed, his forehead bumping against Grif’s. “I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking. It would have been _terrible_. He is the actual worst.”

“Well, I regret it. I just realized that I could’ve kicked the shit out of him for you and gotten away with it. Like our lieutenants would have arrested me. Missed opportunity, man.”

“That is the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me,” Simmons said dryly. They stayed like that for a minute, just breathing together, before Simmons straightened and said, “So, are you ready to walk to Blue Base?”  

“I guess. Does that mean your wedding night plans weren’t ruined?” Grif grinned. “Though I guess lingerie doesn’t have an expiration date. Unless they’re edible. Huh, maybe _that_ ’s what Donut and Doc bought us.”

Simmons rolled his eyes, smiling. His earlier panic seemed to be gone. He looked like he had walking towards the pavilion, a little smug and pleased with himself. “For someone who claims he’s not into lingerie, you are really fixated on the idea. Grif, is there something you want to tell me? It’s okay, I’ll only judge you a little.”

“Fuck off.”

 

* * *

 

Grif’s stomach started pinching him about three minutes into walking towards Blue Base. By the time they actually got there, he was ready to raid their fridge and cupboards, even if he suspected Tucker had finished off Caboose’s cookies. Simmons would probably call him a fat-ass, but there was no way Grif was going to enjoy whatever surprise Simmons had in store on an empty stomach.

Grif pushed open the kitchen door and stopped.

“Well?” Simmons asked when he didn’t say anything. Self-satisfaction dripped from the word. He put his hand on the small of Grif’s back and nudged him further into the kitchen. “Surprised?”

Grif moved forward, still staring at the table, which was set for two. Simmons’ bowl was a simple dessert salad, but Grif’s plate was an unexpectedly familiar sight. “You said that chili burgers were the worst wedding food,” he said stupidly. When he touched the top of the hamburger bun, it was still warm. The fries looked homemade. The Oreos even had their own little plate and fancy napkin. Affection dizzied him. A hunger that wasn’t for food coiled in his stomach.  

“Of course I did. Who the fuck serves their guests chili burgers? But I knew you’d be hungry after the party, so I thought--”

Whatever else Simmons was about to say was muffled against Grif’s mouth, because Grif turned and pushed him against the kitchen counter, kissing him hotly. He swallowed down Simmons’ startled laughter and let his hands slide down to Simmons’ waist.

When the kiss ended, Simmons looked flushed and pleased. “So you like it? It’s not lingerie, which is probably disappointing, but--”

“Yeah, no, I hate it,” Grif drawled, and went to work on the buttons of Simmons’ vest.

Simmons shivered as Grif finished with the last button and started on his shirt. He said, a little breathlessly, “Um, not that I’m objecting, but your food will get cold.”

“Don’t care,” Grif said, wrestling with a stubborn button. He was tempted to tear it off, but he didn’t want Simmons screaming like a little girl and killing the mood.  

Simmons’ hand slid into Grif’s hair and tugged lightly, making Grif pause and look up. Simmons was smiling. “I was wrong. _That_ ’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Grif made a face at him. “I should’ve mentioned your stupid jokes in my vows.” The last button gave beneath his fingers, and he pulled the shirt and vest open. Simmons’ hand stayed in his hair, moving with him as Grif pressed a kiss to Simmons’ bare throat.

Simmons shivered. “Grif, we’re in the kitchen,” he protested weakly, but his other hand stroked down Grif’s back. He made a soft sound as Grif pushed his jacket and shirt off his shoulders and kissed the edge where his cyborg arm began, at a spot where the nerves hadn’t been damaged.

Grif’s heart pounded in his ears. The old neurotic urge to babble rose in his throat. In another second he was going to start talking and probably say a dozen embarrassing things that Simmons would never let him live down. He busied his mouth with kisses to Simmons’ throat, his lips, his jaw, and slid his hands down Simmons’ stomach, feeling the muscles jump against his fingers, stroking the pale skin and raised scars.

When he slipped his hand into Simmons’ pants, Simmons’ fingers tightened painfully in his hair. “ _Grif._ ” There was a familiar strangled note in his voice, the one that meant he wasn’t going to last much longer.

Grif grinned against his neck, and then straightened enough that he could watch Simmons’ face as he came.

Simmons slumped against the counter. His hands dropped to his sides before he made a few vague gestures that Grif translated as instructions to give him a second. He tilted his head back, breathing hard, and Grif admired his handiwork. Simmons’ jaw and throat were covered with red marks, his mouth bruised-looking from the kisses.

While Simmons was busy catching his breath, Grif surreptitiously leaned sideways and wiped his hand on one of the nearby kitchen towels. He’d just have to remember to throw it in the wash before they left.

Simmons opened his eyes. He blinked slowly. He fumbled with his shirt, and managed to redo about half of the buttons before he apparently gave it up as a lost cause. He shrugged the jacket off and dropped it on the kitchen counter. “Come here,” he said, his expression taking on an intensity that Grif recognized.

Grif glanced between the scant few inches separating them, a few ideas for what Simmons had in mind playing in graphic color in his mind. He raised an eyebrow, grinning. “But we’re in the kitchen,” he said, mimicking Simmons’ weak protest.   

Simmons rolled his eyes. He grabbed Grif’s shoulders and pushed him backwards.

Grif let himself be maneuvered until he felt the chair behind him. Then he sat. He let his grin widen and spread his legs in invitation.

Simmons studied him, his expression almost indecisive, as though he was struggling to choose from all his options. Then he half-leaned over Grif, his hands braced on Grif’s thighs. He kissed Grif slowly, all the urgency in his look concealed in a slow, savoring sort of kiss. He kissed like they had all the time in the world. His thumbs stroked languid circles on Grif’s thighs, little touches that made Grif want to grab him and drag him into his lap. It was even worse than the cock-tease kisses during the wedding photos.

Grif grumbled against his mouth, shifting impatiently, and Simmons smiled. “Should we make it fast? Your food might still be warm,” he said, and looked too amused by his own half-assed joke.

Grif would’ve made fun of him, except Simmons took the next moment to tug Grif’s shirt out of the way and thumb open his fly. When his hand closed around Grif’s dick, Grif hissed out a startled breath. It took him a second to realize why Simmons’ touch felt strange: the wedding ring. Words tried to wrench themselves from his throat, sappy and ridiculous, but when he spoke, the only thing that escaped his mouth was Simmons’ name.

“Yeah,” Simmons said, as though Grif had said everything cluttering up his chest. His voice so fond that it almost hurt, his mouth soft against Grif’s. “Yeah, Grif.” Then he tightened his grip and jerked Grif off fast and hard, exactly how Grif liked it best, only slowing when Grif shuddered and came.

When Grif opened his eyes, Simmons was making the face he always made after sex, the one that said he’d forgotten in the heat of the moment how gross the aftermath was. The look deepened when he turned, looking for something to use to clean. Grif knew he spotted the kitchen towel at his appalled, “Grif! That’s disgusting.”

Grif shrugged and pulled his plate closer. He grabbed a fry and tossed it into his mouth. He swallowed, enjoying the burst of salt and flavor, and said, “I was going to throw it in the wash.”

Simmons looked a little skeptical, then sighed and grabbed the towel. He wiped them both clean, swatting lightly at Grif’s arms when Grif tried to eat around his efforts. Grif was halfway through his burger by the time Simmons was satisfied they hadn’t done irreparable damage to their suits.

Simmons sank into his chair. Another smile crept onto his face while he watched Grif eat. “So, a good surprise?” he asked again, as though Grif giving him a hand-job in the Blue kitchen wasn’t a good indicator of yes.

Grif debated teasing him, but decided there was plenty of time to joke around. Being sincere could be his wedding present, since he hadn’t thought to come up with any romantic gestures to surprise Simmons with. He grinned. “Yeah. Romantic as fuck.”

Simmons looked startled, then pleased. He ate a scoopful of his dessert.

“Is that any good?” Grif asked, eyeing it with interest. He reached out a hand, and pouted when Simmons slapped it with his spoon.

“You have Oreos!”

“But I want to try yours too,” Grif said, putting a pathetic whine into his voice. When Simmons sighed, he knew he’d won.

Simmons took another spoonful of the dessert and held it out to him. Magnanimously, Grif put an Oreo onto a fancy napkin and passed it over as he leaned forward and tasted the dessert. Huh, somehow he hadn't expected pistachio. When he swallowed, he said, “Good, but Oreos are better. Do you want to open some of the presents tonight? I feel like we should at least open Donut and Doc’s. I want to see if they gave us flavored condoms and lube.”

Simmons looked intrigued. Then he apparently remembered it was Doc and Donut’s gift, and horror soured the curiosity. “Flavored condoms and lube?”

Grif shrugged. “Or just regular condoms. Safe sex is fun sex, remember?”

Simmons grimaced. “Trying not to, thanks.” He waited until they’d both finished and then said, “I think Donut said everyone left the presents in the activity room. We could open a few.” He paused and added, “Including Doc and Donut’s, because now I want to know, damn it.”

When they went into the activity room, Grif paused to admire the amount of the presents that filled the room. All of them were wrapped with colorful paper, and a few even had bows. Maybe that’s why his eyes caught on the plain manila envelope. Anywhere else it would’ve been nondescript, but among all the colors, its drabness stood out.

“What’s this one?” he asked, wandering over to pick it up. The envelope was light in his hands. When he opened it, an external hard drive fell out in his hand. He shook the envelope and even looked inside, but there wasn’t a note. “Who would send us a hard drive?”  

“I don’t know.” Simmons took it from him, frowning. “I don’t recognize the model.” He made a face. “Ugh. Would your sister or Tucker give us porn as a wedding present?”  

“No.” Grif paused and reconsidered. “Maybe as a gag gift. The Blues all have laptops, right? Let’s see what’s on it.”

Simmons snorted. “I’m not touching Tucker’s. But Caboose’s should be in his room.”

A few minutes later, Simmons plugged the hard drive in and they both leaned over the laptop. “Weird. These folders labeled by random numbers,” Simmons muttered. “1978, 1980, 2004, 2010, and 2040-- Wait. Those are years.”

“Yeah, for the entire run of Battlestar Galactica,” Grif said, even as Simmons’ eyes went wide in realization. He nudged Simmons’ shoulder. “Open up one of the folders! Holy shit, did someone send us every episode? I didn’t think anyone even had the 2040 one since it sucked so hard! I’ve heard stories about the shitty Cylon dog. I can’t fucking wait.”

“Who sent this?” Simmons wondered. He squinted at the screen. “Wait, there’s one last folder, just labelled Congratulations.” He clicked on it. There was a single file inside, also named Congratulations. When he clicked on that, a succinct message popped up.

_Congratulations on your wedding._

- _Locus_

“What the fuck,” Simmons said, his voice an alarmed squeak. “Why did _Locus_ send us a gift? How did he even know we were getting married?”

Grif grinned. “Oh, hey, I guess he got his invitation.”

“You…. You invited Locus. To our wedding.” Simmons buried his face in his hands. Muffled noises that sounded suspiciously like whimpers and rude remarks about Grif’s intelligence slipped out from between his fingers.  

“Uh, yes, Simmons. He and I were partners, remember? He helped me save you guys! That kind of bond is forever. Why _wouldn’t_ I invite him to our wedding?”

Simmons looked up and stared. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said, “maybe because Chorus wants to put him on trial for crimes against humanity, and the _president of Chorus was also invited_.” The last half of the sentence was hissed through gritted teeth.

“Oh, huh.” Grif nodded. “Yeah, that probably would’ve been awkward. I see why he just sent the gift. Still, pretty cool of him.” He patted the laptop.

Simmons shook his head in disbelief. Then he gasped, the sound so panic-stricken that Grif actually looked around to see what was wrong. Nothing seemed to be on fire. “Grif, he didn’t leave a forwarding address! How are we supposed to send a thank-you card?”

Grif grinned. When he realized Simmons was actually worried, he patted Simmons’ arm. “Apparently Donut got the invitation to Locus. He can probably get a card to him too.”

“Right.” Simmons looked relieved. He shook his head again and muttered, “I still can’t believe you invited him.”

“Yeah, well,” Grif said with a shrug. “Turns out he’s awesome at presents. I wonder if I should invite him for my birthday.”

Simmons sighed. “You really think you're friends. You do realize that friendship is a two-way street, right? And that he’ll eventually expect you to start giving him gifts? What would you even get that guy?”

“Huh.” Grif considered this. “Well, he definitely needs to loosen up. Maybe a hooker? Though he never actually answered me on if he likes guys or girls or both, so I’d probably have to get him two hookers just to be safe.”

Simmons made a sound like he was choking. He said, still a little strangled, “I can’t decide if I would pay a million dollars to see his face, or a million for you not to do it so he doesn’t snap your neck--” His composure broke, and it turned out he’d been choking on laughter.

Grif shoved at his shoulder. “Fuck you. That guy needs to get laid. It’d be a great present.”

Simmons got himself under control. He wiped a tear from his eye. “It really isn’t. Between you pushing all of Donut’s homicidal buttons today and this idea, I’m beginning to think you _want_ me to end up a widower.” His voice softened. “Let’s stick with that living until we’re eighty plan.”

It was on the tip of Grif’s tongue to make a joke about the average life span being a hundred now and that they weren’t being that optimistic. He swallowed it down. Instead he reached out and touched Simmons’ face, stroking his thumb over a few freckles. He let himself imagine it, Simmons fifty or sixty years from now, with wrinkles and white hair and probably even more freckles. Unless you lost freckles when you aged. He tried to think if he’d ever seen old people with freckles, then shook away the meandering thought.

Simmons’ skin was warm against his fingers. “Sure,” he said, giving tentatively into hope, and watched a smile spread across Simmons’ face. “It’s a deal.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your amazing comments! Seriously, I have been blown away by how welcoming and lovely everyone has been. 
> 
> I'm [Cinaed](http://cinaed.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr (and everywhere else), so feel free to send me prompts or just yell in my messenger or inbox about Red vs Blue. I have a lot of feelings!


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